


My Crew and You

by BaegentWashington (onesaltydemon)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, GTA!AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6528331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onesaltydemon/pseuds/BaegentWashington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is the best sniper around and fits happily into one of Boston's leading gangs, Samwell.</p><p>Bitty is fast, smart, and affable. He doesn't look like he belongs in a gang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked in

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea how this will be received, but i have some time on my hands and too much check, please on my mind.  
> find me on [tumblr](http://www.milesandcompany.tumblr.com). it would make me very happy.  
> leave me comments to let me know what you think B)
> 
> now beta'd!!
> 
> s/o to [SirNibbles](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/SirNibbles) and [hyenalab](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/hyenalab) for being the best betas around.

The wind off the tops of the surrounding buildings stung Jack’s cheeks. Normally, Jack wouldn’t mind the cold in Boston, but when he was on a job he needed all the help he could get.

Jack was a bit of a legend around these parts. If you needed someone dead, you came to Zimmermann. His name preceded him, as the Zimmermann Sr. was one of the biggest, baddest gangsters New England had ever seen. Hell, they called him Bad Bob for a reason, and it certainly wasn’t due to ineptitude.

But Jack had made a name of his own here. Picked up early by Samwell, one of the leading gangs in the area, the French-Canadian had quickly honed his sniping skills. Rumor had it that he could hit a dime from two miles away, though no one would volunteer to hold a dime to check.

Jack burrowed further into his jacket and took another look through the scope of his gun. Johnson’s voice was crackling through his earpiece, droning on about establishing the setting and characters within the first few paragraphs, and Jack started to tune out.

His target hadn’t appeared yet. Ransom and Holster, a deadly, dynamic duo with hair trigger tempers, were fronting this deal. Jack wasn’t sure they should be up front, as they were typically the crew’s last line of defense, but Johnson had insisted it would fit into the narrative so there wasn’t much he could do about it.

After about fifteen minutes Shitty’s voice crackled through the comms.

“They should’ve been here by now. I’m thinking we’ve been had, bros.” At that minute, seven or eight men – Jack couldn’t be sure through the smoke bombs they’d thrown – rushed out from the warehouse Rans and Holster were standing in front of.

Seeing the two men work together would be breathtaking if Jack didn’t see it nearly every day. Ransom furiously hurled his chakrams as Holster cocked his shotgun. Blades and bullets flew, the tag team efficiently taking down at least half of the unwanted guests.

Meanwhile, Jack clicked on his infrared goggles, picking up on his two crew members’ heat signatures after making a few adjustments. Once he was sure they were identified, he took aim and fired at one of the unknown people surrounding them. They went down immediately. He started lining up another target. Ready, aim, fire. He repeated until only two rainbow-colored men stood in his field of vision.

“Boys,” Johnson said once they’d all regrouped at the getaway cars, “it’s come to my attention that our narrative would develop in a more complex and engaging manner if we brought on a couple more men. Keep your eyes peeled for anyone who might fit in well here.”

The other boys murmured words of agreement before hopping in the car and speeding back towards their base. 

* * *

The base was actually a shiny, well-known apartment building situated right on the water’s edge. Samwell owned the penthouse suite and had more than enough rooms for everyone in the crew. Everyone took turns cleaning and cooking, though it was more like a frat house than any reputable gang’s lair. They lovingly called it the Haus, though Jack wasn’t quite sure who came up with that one (he tried asking Johnson, but was just told it was part of the established universe and not to question the system, whatever that meant).

Once they were back from their failed deal, Jack immediately took off for the shower. As he was retreating, he heard Johnson mutter something about going out to find something he’d been looking for. Jack tried not to think about it as he let the warm rivulets of water run down his back, heat seeping into his tired and stiff body.

He took more time than he normally would in the shower. Normally, this would run the risk of earning numerous chirps about “self-care” and “his new girlfriend,” but most of the crew won’t dare mock him after a botched mission.

Despite the thin walls (or thinner than they would like), Jack was so focused on washing his hair for the fourth time that he didn’t hear Johnson returning. He certainly didn’t hear a second, unfamiliar voice greeting everyone.

After the heat had seared his skin a dark red, he turned off the water and toweled off. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he ran a comb through his dark locks a few times before heading out into the hallway that lead to his room. He was following the same route he normally did when something deviates from the pattern. He’d been counting the wide wooden slats of the floor as he steps over them. _Four, eight, twelve – oof_ _!_ His ritual was interrupted when he bumped into a small blond head bent over a phone.

Jack immediately went on high alert, sprinting the last two steps to an end table and grabbing the pistol stashed there. The blond was still standing wide-eyed in the hallway, unmoving as Jack grabbed him by the neck and pointed the gun to his temple.

“Who the fuck are you? How’d you get up here?”

The small man in his arms froze and spluttered a bit before saying, “Not a great way to treat someone who’s new to the crew.” Jack noted his accent, which was thick, and not the Bostonian drawl he’d become so used to. He guessed it was southern, but he couldn’t get a more exact location from so few words. Jack grunted questioningly.

“Johnson just offered me a place here. Think he said somethin’ about building up the crew. You can ask him! Just, please don’t shoot me?”

Ransom and Holster turned the corner and strolled up the hallway. They had plates full of what seemed to be PB&J sandwiches, which Jack mentally scoffed at. _Don’t they know that the PB &Js come before a heist? We were fucked from the beginning._

“Oh, Jack, you met Bitty!” Ransom said, mouth stuffed with bread, spewing crumbs all over the floor.

“Looks like you’re trying to kill him already, bro. Hows about taking about 20% off. You know, unload the pistol somewhere that’s _not_ his head?” Holster shrugged. At Jack’s lack of response, he turned his head towards his partner and muttered, “Look, I tried to diffuse it. It’s not my fault if he kills the frog.” Ransom nodded in agreement.

Jack cringed at the idea that this kid was actually going to be part of the crew. He was so _small_. He had begged for his life instead of trying to fight back. He definitely wouldn’t be anywhere near Jack’s top pick for a new recruit. Suddenly, the sniper became acutely aware of the fact that he still had the wimpy boy clamped between his arm and chest. He lowered the pistol and shoved Bitty away from him.

“Goodness gracious that sure was a doozy! I knew y’all were in a gang, but I wasn’t expectin’ a gun to the head in my first five minutes! Anyways, I was just about to check out the kitchen. I was thinkin’ about makin’ a pie, maybe some steaks for dinner? I’ll probably have to run to the store but….” Bitty’s voice trailed off as he walked in the direction of the Haus’ kitchen.

“He sure is something, eh?” Ransom asked while playfully elbowing Jack. “Apparently he’s so quick that he pulled one over on _Johnson_. Kid took less than a second to take the boss’s wallet and half the weapons he had on him. Cute face, too. Boss says he might be the new front man.”

Holster’s shoulders sagged. “Aw, that’s a bummer. I thought we made a pretty good team, bro.”

Jack glowered at them, keeping his head low. “Just make sure you keep an eye on him. I’m not going to be responsible for anything that happens.”


	2. You've Been Hit By, You've Been Struck By, A Smooth Criminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild Eric Bittle appears!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a small TW for possible/attempted sexual assault, but Bitty deals with it on his own terms and is not coerced into anything he hasn't planned.

Bitty wasn’t sure how he got here, to be honest. It had only been a couple months since his father had rejected him and kicked him out onto the streets. Over that period of time, Bitty had hitch-hiked up the I-95, hopping from shitty motel to even shittier motel. He quickly found himself running out of cash, as the couple of crumpled hundred dollar bills his mom snuck him before leaving hadn’t lasted nearly as long as he’d hoped.

The first time he stole from someone, it was more of an accident than anything else. He’d been walking down a sidewalk in Richmond, Virginia when a man in a three-piece suit bumped into him. The man was focused on whatever conversation he was having with the other person on the Bluetooth headset, and didn’t notice his wallet slip out of his coat pocket. Bitty immediately picked it up and hurried after the man to return it, but the man brushed him off, only to turn around and yell at him for harassment. Disheartened, Bitty decided to pocket the wallet and find a cheap diner where he could hopefully get some pie.

When the check for his dinner (and several desserts) arrived, he reached for his billfold to pull out the rest of his cash. He’d checked before he entered the diner to make sure he would have enough, so he wasn’t too worried. Instead, he was greeted by sleek, authentic leather that housed at least a hundred dollars and several nice looking credit cards. He pulled out his newly acquired cash and laid it on the table, ignoring the slight pang of guilt he felt at using someone else’s money.

In reality, he knew he had to eat. He still wasn’t sure where he was going, nor what he would do when he got there. Somehow, somewhere along the way, the idea of going to Boston got stuck in his mind. Maybe it was because he’d heard that they were more accepting. Maybe he just needed a place north enough that he could blend in. Either way, it was Boston or Bust.

* * *

The second time he stole from someone, it definitely wasn’t an accident. The wallet he’d  _found_  in Richmond got him out of the state and into Maryland. He’d almost gotten out of Maryland, too, but his cash ran out in Baltimore.

Luckily, Baltimore was a pretty busy town, with people bustling up and down the streets. He found someone who looked a lot like the first man he had stolen from and tried to employ a similar tacticUnfortunately, all he got was a disgusted scowl and a heartfelt “watch where you’re fucking going,” neither of which was going to pay the bills. He pulled out his phone, thankful that his mom hadn’t taken him off the plan yet, and looked up the closest bar.

Getting in was a little challenging, but after a solid five minutes of flirting and the last twenty from his pocket, Bitty was inside the bar and sitting precariously on a stool.

“What’ll it be for you?” the bartender asked, fluttering her eyelashes as she spoke.

“Just a Dr. Pepper for now?” Bittle stammered, mostly trying not to stand out. He was beyond the bounds of his comfort zone.

The bartender nodded before filling up a tall glass with soda. She slid it across the bar and winked at him before turning to help the next patron.

About ten minutes later, a tall, goateed man tapped him on the shoulder. “Is this seat taken?”

“No, sir! Absolutely no one is sitting there!” Bitty pressed his hand against his mouth to stop himself from babbling.

“Cute  _and_  a gentleman. I like that. How ‘bout I buy you a drink?”

Bitty took a moment to size the man up before nodding and presenting the warmest smile he could muster.

They continued to make small talk for a while until Bitty got too uncomfortable with where their conversation was heading. The beer he’d been downing hadn’t helped the growing anxiety in his chest, either.

“I think I’m going to go to the bathroom. If you’ll excuse me,” he (not so) calmly stated. He stood up, brushing the creases out of his pants and heading to the restrooms.

He splashed some cool water on his face in an attempt to calm himself down. Whatever he was expecting to see in the reflection when he looked up, it definitely was not the man who’d been chatting him up.

“I was wondering if you were getting the same vibe as me,” teased the man. He approached Bitty and placed his hands around the blonde’s waist.

Bitty knew this would be the moment that defined the rest of his life, somehow. So he let it. He stood up on his tip-toes and kissed the man with all that he was good for. It wasn’t a clean kiss, instead rather slobbery and toothy, but it clearly distracted the man enough that Bitty could slide his hands into his pockets and take everything he had. He left the keys and the phone – they were too easy to trace and he didn’t have much need for either – and then kneed the man in the groin as hard as he could. He ran out of the bathroom before calmly sauntering to the counter to leave enough money for his soda. After that, he walked slowly out of the bar. The second his feet hit the sidewalk, he sprinted as fast as he could into the darkness.

* * *

Eric Bittle flirted and robbed his way through the remaining states. After a while, it all became a blur of frantic kissing, calm getaways, and sprinting harder than ever.

When he got to Boston, he was a little underwhelmed. He wasn’t sure what he expected from the city, though. Mostly just a haven where he could start a new life away from his father, he guessed. So when he found a fairly nondescript man coming out of a shiny high-rise, he figured that now was as good of a time as any. He walked past in the opposite direction, fingers ghosting quickly in and out of the man’s pockets before he cottoned on to what Bitty had done. He did notice, however, and turned around to confront Bitty, but Bitty was already one step ahead of him, fingers unsnapping his holster from his belt while another hand reached for the knife around his thigh. He held them both up menacingly toward the man he’d just robbed before the man stepped back chuckling, “Say, you’re just the man I've been looking for. Do you need a job?”

* * *

Five minutes into his new job and he was in  _heaven_. He met Shitty first, shocked by his lack of a formal name.

(“How do I talk about you to my mother? She’ll be appalled if I call you Shitty!” “ _Brah_ , you’re living on the streets. You still talk to your  _mother_?”)

Shitty wasn’t exactly what he pictured when he thought of gangsters. That being said, Bitty guessed that  _he’s_  not what you picture when you think of lawbreakers, so he let it slide. Lardo wasn’t what he was expecting, either, but the look in her eyes suggested that she might be more capable than his first glance led him to believe. Ransom and Holster immediately started talking like they’d known him for years. Bitty found the camaraderie comforting, and he knew he’d have to bake them each a pie to show them his gratitude.

And then Jack.

Jack was…

Bitty thought it would be easier to list the things that Jack wasn’t.

Jack wasn’t afraid of him. Jack wasn’t unsure around weapons like Bitty was. Jack wasn’t fucking around. Jack wasn’t his friend.

Maybe it was foolish to expect the entire crew to just readily adopt him. Still, he couldn't ignore the way Shitty had latched onto him, nor the way both Holster and Ransom treated him like a long-lost brother. Even Lardo quickly looked him over as if she were sizing him up, but more in a protective way rather than a predatory one.

But Jack didn’t do that. Jack had immediately distrusted him. It had been obvious that he couldn’t understand how Eric might have possibly earned his way into the crew.

And the thing was, Bitty understood that. He  _wasn’t_  sure he’d really earned his way in yet, either. In fact, he was pretty positive that there would be some sort of trial by fire coming up soon, and he wasn’t sure if he’d survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~i'm in the market for a beta. hmu[here](http://www.milesandcompany.tumblr.com/ask) if you're interested.~~
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> sike i've got two now bc i'm a spoiled prince who gets everything i ever wanted.


	3. I'm A Loser, Baby, So Why Don't You Kill Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> planning & training

When Johnson called them all into the boardroom, Jack had almost forgotten about Bitty. Instead, his eyes were focused on the wall-sized map of Boston and the dry erase markings covering it.

The plan seemed simple enough. Jack was to take out the guards outside Yale’s warehouse, leaving a hole for Shitty to slip in, Ransom and Holster at his heels for protection. It was a routine heist, one they’d pulled on numerous gangs around the city.

What wasn’t routine was that Bitty was supposed to head the whole operation. Johnson said he wanted to sit one out, see how the new team worked together.

Bittle had stopped doodling assorted kitchen items on his notepad and looked up. “You mean I’m meant to just walk nose first into open fire?”

Holster leaned over and put a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Not open fire, Bits. We’ll be there to take anyone down before they can get to you.”

“So then why do you even need me?” squeaked Bitty.

Shitty scratched his mustache before nodding at Johnson. “No, I get it. We need someone fast, brah. We need Yale to think that we’re just there for guns, drugs, you know, normal gangster shit and all that. Johnson’s got more up his sleeve, you can tell by his smug fucking grin.”

A laugh from Johnson was only followed by, “Sharp as ever, Shits.”

“What are we risking our lowly crew for, O Almighty Johnson?” Ransom asked. His eyes nervously hovered over Holster, mind obviously working overtime.

“Well, you know how the Stanley Cup was stolen a couple months ago…”

“No,” Jack interrupted. “I’m sorry, but no.”

Shitty was standing now, hands on Lardo’s shoulders. “Come on, Zimmermann. This could be our best heist yet! Think of how much fame and fortune this could bring us! Not to mention that if I hadn’t joined you motherfuckers, I probably would be playing shinny right now.”

“I think it’s a good plan,” Lardo purred, glancing at Jack. Jack hated that look. He knew it meant that he was outnumbered.

“ _Fine_. How long do we have?”

Johnson grinned and held up a few fingers. “Three days, my man.”

* * *

Bitty was not awake enough to be standing in the training room of one of their warehouses.

“Jack, it’s four in the morning. Is this really necessary?”

He received a glare in response. “Bittle, you can’t faint at every gunshot. You need to know how to defend yourself so my crew doesn’t get hurt trying to protect you.”

Bitty sighed and squared his shoulders. “Fine. Ain’t got much to lose, I guess.”

All in all, day one’s training was… productive. Bitty still wasn’t quite over his nervous streak, and Jack’s intimidating stare didn’t do much to alleviate that. But Eric did learn quite a bit about hand-to-hand combat, including the proper way to hold a knife. He’d probably never master the circular chakrams Ransom preferred, but he figured that that was for the best. You can only have one bizarre weapon per gang, probably.

Still, he was put off by the sniper’s demeanor. He had thought that if they just had a chance to spend more time together, Jack would start to warm up to him some. He tried to work his southern charm again.

“I was thinkin’ that when we get back to the base that I could make you a pie for all your trouble. What’s your favorite kind?”

“You should really eat more protein, Bittle.” And with that, Jack was gone.

Bitty had never felt more alone.

* * *

Day two went a little better than day one. He learned how to fire a gun correctly – a pistol, mind you; Bitty wasn’t sure he could handle the kickback of something automatic – and how to better use his speed to his advantage.

He wouldn’t say that Jack was _proud_ of him, just that he looked a bit pleased as he hit the floor from one of Bittle’s grappling checks.

“You’re improving, Bittle,” he said, not looking him in the eye. “One more day and you might be decent enough to not fuck this up, eh?”

Okay, yes, that wasn’t really a compliment, but Eric was going to go ahead and take it as one.

“Does this mean you’ll let me make you brunch? I’ll use a lot of eggs and bacon! Maybe even some potatoes, though I guess that’s more starch than protein, but it could really round out the meal, especially if I add some ros-”

He was cut off by Jack who chuckled before nodding. “Yeah, eggs and bacon would be great.”

That’s how Bitty found himself standing in the Haus’ kitchen, apron tied around his hips and a spatula firmly in his hand. He’d already ridded Jack of the sheer hostility he once felt, but it wasn’t as if they were best buddies now. But they were teammates, solid teammates, and for now, that was enough.

* * *

Day three was a disaster. Jack pushed him harder than ever before, asking Bittle to do ridiculous maneuvers that involved flips or something? Bitty wasn’t really sure he could understand the point of it, but he really did try. He wanted so badly for Jack to be proud of him, to look at him as an asset to the crew instead of a liability. He desperately needed to prove himself, not only to Jack but to everyone. He may have just been an eighteen year old who got kicked out of his house, but he had been finding more and more that he was worth more than that, that he could _make_ himself be more than that.

* * *

The morning of the heist, everyone was buzzing about the Haus with frantic energy. Ransom sharpened his blades while Holster oiled his gun. Lardo and Shitty were discussing logistics of getaways with Johnson. Bitty was in the kitchen making plate after plate of waffles and sausage. And Jack… was eating a PB&J.

Before Bittle could stop himself, he blurted out, “I thought we were supposed to be eating protein, sir.” 

Jack startled and then turned to face him. He blinked once. Twice.

Luckily Shitty came to his recuse. “Brah _,_ listen. There’s a method to his madness.”

“And that method is fruit preserves and creamed peanuts?”

“No, you’re not getting it. It’s not what he’s eating, it’s the fact he’s eating it. It’s how we pull off our most successful heists. Couldn’t do it without this beaut and his sandwichy creations!”

Bitty nodded but didn’t quite grasp the message. He wasn’t sure he was meant to.

“Alright, Samwell, listen up. We need to get this story rolling and onto the gritty parts. There may be blood. There may be death. There may be two people who frustratingly pine after each other for several chapters. Who knows? We’ll find out when we get there.”

Ransom and Holster fist bumped and picked up their gear. Shitty and Lardo picked up their respective car keys and each grabbed a pistol from the kitchen table (Bitty had _detested_ the idea that they were putting weapons on the table, but he was quickly overruled. That would change, mark Bitty’s words) to protect themselves in case things went south.

Jack’s sniper rifle was slung over his shoulder, and the gloved fingers wrapping around the strap would surely be white-knuckled if Bitty could see more than red wool.

Bitty patted himself down, feeling the gun tucked in the back of his jeans and the knife strapped to his thigh. When he assured himself for the fifth time that they were indeed there, he flashed a toothy grin to the crew and giggled. (Fucking giggled, Bittle. Gangsters don’t giggle.)

“Let’s play.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~still looking for a[beta](http://www.milesandcompany.tumblr.com/ask). otherwise, keep leaving nice things because they make me want to write.~~
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> thanks to [hyenalab](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hyenalab) and [sirnibbles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sirnibbles) for being my betas.


	4. Let's Kill Tonight (Show Them All You're Not the Ordinary Type)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let's heist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back, baby.  
> s/o to my betas

If Shitty was nervous, he didn’t show it. In fact, Bitty wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen anyone more blatantly excited to murder people. Not that he knew a lot of murderers. Though, now that he thought about it, he’d gotten to know more than he’d ever expected in less than a week.

Eric searched the rooftops for Jack. He knew the sniper was in position – the man’s voice over the comms had told him so – but he couldn’t make out his slouched form at the top of the skyline. At this point, Bitty was practically vibrating with anticipation. If they didn’t start soon, he was sure he’d chicken out.

Lardo seemed to sense this and got the ball rolling. “When you’ve got the shot, take it, Jack.”

A grunt over the earpieces was the only confirmation they got that he’d even heard anything. Thirty seconds later, a gun popped – once, twice – and two thumps quickly followed.

“Shouldn’t stand so close together,” was all Jack mumbled.

“Alright,” Lardo starts, “Rans, go around to the left and make sure there’s no one still outside. Holster, load up and let’s go. You’re breaching the door.”

Ransom hesitated before following orders, clearly unused to operating on his own. Holster simply nodded at him before he checked his gun and flashed Lardo a thumbs up.

Shitty knocked his shoulder against Bitty’s. “Follow me and stay low. I’m going for the drugs while you’re going to look for anything that could lead us to the Cup.”

“Got it,” Bittle replied, squaring up his shoulders and mentally preparing himself. 

Holster stood in front of the door, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of just kicking it in. Clearly the pros far outweighed the cons in his book, as he backed up, sized up the door, and slammed his booted foot by the handle . It gave in, banging noisily against the wall. If anyone had been unaware of Samwell’s presence, they certainly weren’t now. He moved inside quickly, bullets already flying at figures emerging from the shadows in the warehouse.

Ransom sprinted in second, slicing up several of Yale’s men badly. He stepped over the fallen limbs with practiced grace while he and Holster kept a close eye on Bitty and Shitty, mowing down anyone who came remotely close to them. Bitty heard Jack’s soft breathing over his earpiece and wondered if he was climbing down the building to join them. However, his thoughts were interrupted when he caught a glimpse of a large corkboard filled with pictures and maps, all pointing to where the Cup might be. Hanging on a hook in the right corner of the board was a set of keys. He wasn’t sure what they went to, but he was willing to bet his meager sum of cash that they were important.

He immediately took off in that direction. It looked clear, but there were numerous crates spread around the warehouse, and he didn’t doubt that there are people hiding among them. He drew his knife, his grasp firm like Jack had taught him.

The sound of bullets ricocheted around him, sharp and dangerous. He could hear blades clanging against something metal – a crowbar, he later discovered (who brings a crowbar to a gun fight?) – and tried to shove it all to the back of his mind. He knew he was brought here for his speed. He knows he could probably just grab the board and roll it out before anyone caught him.

He glanced behind him just in time to see Jack enter the warehouse. He had a new gun now – a rifle? Bitty’s wasn’t sure – and it was aimed at one of Shitty’s assailants. Bitty turned back to the board and pushed himself harder.

When he reached the board, he almost danced before realizing he still had to get it _anywhere but here_. A quick glance around showed that most of Yale’s men were either dead or too injured to fight. It should’ve been a piece of cake to escape in one piece.

That’s when he finally noticed Jack near the door they’d entered. The sniper was being held up against the wall by his neck by an enormous monster of a man. Bitty’s heart leapt into his throat and he tried his best to keep running forward. The wheels of the corkboard squeaked horribly, but Eric couldn’t hear anything over the thrum of his pulse in his ears and Ransom swearing about something on the comms.

When he got within a couple yards of Jack, he abandoned the board and his knife, reaching for his pistol instead. Before he could fire, the man wrapped his arm around the sniper’s neck and pivoted, putting Jack into a chokehold and using him as a shield.

Bittle couldn’t shoot the man without risking hitting Jack, but he would suffocate soon anyway if Bitty didn’t do something.

He raised his gun and fired.

The man dropped to the floor in a crumpled heap. Jack lurched forward, gasping for air. His eyes were sharp and chilling. Bitty looked away almost instantly, uncomfortable under the gaze. He tried to think of something to say but turned back for his board and knife instead.

* * *

The rest of the heist went smoothly. Ransom and Holster chirped each other the entire way home, only stopping twice to critique Shitty’s driving. Bitty was too lost in his own head to contribute much to the conversation.

He had killed a man. Sure, it was to protect Jack, but Eric Richard Bittle was not a killer. He may have made a couple of unplanned changes in his life – joining a gang was definitely one of them – but he was not a bad person. He thought of his mother, how sweet she had always been, how she had always loved and supported him no matter what. _She wouldn’t if she knew what I’ve become_ , he thought bitterly, willing the stinging in his eyes to dissipate.

When they got back to base, Bitty immediately cornered Shitty in his bedroom. Shitty had been the easiest person to talk to since he’d joined the crew; surely he’d be able to impart some advice for Bitty’s situation.

“Shitty, I need’ta talk to you.”

“Sure, brah. Mind if I light up?” Since they were in Shitty’s room, Bitty didn’t really have any argument against it. Instead he just shrugged and went on with what he came to talk about.

“I killed a man.”

“You sure did, you little fucker! It was a fucking ‘sawesome shot, from what I saw. Jack owes you like a metric fuckton.”

“But I _killed a man_. I’ve never- I can’t-“

“Look, you did something ‘bad’,” he added air-quotes for emphasis, “but that doesn’t make _you_ bad, Bits. You’re the best fucking kid I know, plus your pie is to fucking die for.”

“But-“

“No, look. We all signed up for this. They all signed up for this. Everyone knew the fucking risks before we joined. It’s not like we’re out there killing civilians and puppies. We’re not bad people, we just don’t always do good things.”

Bitty thought on that. Maybe he could work with that. He killed someone who was doing a bad thing for a good reason. Maybe that could be enough.

* * *

The last stop before his shower was Jack’s room. He expected Jack to be riding the high of the heist with Ransom and Holster, but instead he found a man hunched over on the edge of his bed.

“Hey, Jack! I’m glad you’re here. ‘Cause, um. I just wanted to tell you good job today. And thank-“

“Bittle. It was a lucky shot.”

Bitty’s stomach sank, and he felt like the world had stopped spinning. His eyes burned and suddenly he couldn’t get far enough away from Jack’s room.

He locked himself in the bathroom and cried. If anyone heard him through the thin walls, no one said anything about it.


	5. Could It Be That It's the Season of the Shark?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [jaws theme song]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo sorry i've been out of the country and just got back in last night. s/o to my betas as always, as well as all y'all bc without y'all i wouldn't have a reason to write this.
> 
> also blame [SirNibbles](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/SirNibbles) for the shark bits. she's v convincing when it comes to suggesting ideas.

Jack was typically an early riser, but the heist had taken more out of him than he’d like to admit. So when he was rudely awoken by a giddy Ransom and Holster, the ideas that came to mind certainly weren’t legal – not that that had ever been a deterrent before.

“Jack, bro, you won’t believe the shit we raked in!” Ransom yelled, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah, bro, Shits must’ve grabbed about twenty kilos of smack! We’re fucking rich!”

“That’s nice,” was all Jack could muster. “Now why are you here again?”

The two intruding men gave each other a knowing look before Holster quips, “Sniper ‘bot needs time to recharge, bro.”

“I’m not a-"

“Shhhh,” Ransom held a finger up to Jack’s lips, effectively silencing him. “Sir Eric of Bittleton has requested an audience. Something about a board or something.”

Jack’s shoulders and stomach sank. He hadn’t had time to deconstruct the heist yesterday, but he did remember that he’d shut Bittle down pretty quickly last night. Not that what he said wasn’t true; it was undeniably a lucky shot. A few inches in any direction and Jack’s face would only be a disgusting splatter on the wall. Still, there was no doubt that he now owed Bittle his life. Instead of grateful, the way he treated him last night was cold and shut off, much like how he used to act before Samwell. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Clearing his throat, he managed, “Well, let’s not keep him waiting, eh?”

* * *

“Okay, y’all. Sit yerselves down and listen up. I managed to nab this board from Yale during our heist and, if I’m not mistaken, it contains most of the known locations of the Cup. It started here in Chicago,” his finger pointed straight at a red dot in Illinois, “and moved here, here, here, and here.” His finger slid across the map to all the other dots that had been placed. “If you connect all of these points and squint, it kinda looks like like a pie!” The boys groaned. “But other than that, the lines mean nothin’.” He paused before his eyes lit up with a thought. “But since the lines mean nothin’, they’re probably flying it around. And it’s not like they could get the Cup through security, so they must be using private airplanes or somethin’. Last known location was… just about three days ago in NYC.”

Lardo clapped her hands together. “Nice sleuthing, Bits. We’ll see if any local private airfields have any more intel. Keep going over those maps and see if you can’t find something to help the boys out. Shitty, Jack, I want you two to help me vet the three new recruits. We leave in ten minutes.”

* * *

The new recruits Johnson had found were… interesting.

“Ohmygod, are you THE Jack Zimmermann? I can’t believe I get to be in a gang with _Jack Zimmermann_!” the one who was trembling with excitement said.

“Yes, Chowder, that’s Zimmermann. Maybe chill just a little, dude,” a more relaxed boy replied before anyone else could speak up.

“You can’t just tell everyone to chill, Nursey. It’s insensitive,” the redhead explained.

“Chill, Dex.”

“I swear to God, I will-”

“Alright, that’s fucking enough, bros. I’m Shitty. This here is Jack. That’s Lardo. We’re here to see if you’ve got the fucking stuff to be part of the crew. You, uh, Chowder?” The boy nodded. “What do you do?”

“Oh! I do all kinds of stuff! I’m good at keeping stuff safe! And I know computers! Like hacking stuff, faking identities, getting into mainframes!”

Jack leveled a look at Shitty and nodded.

“’Swawesome,” Shitty replied before moving down the line. He nearly barked Dex’s name.

“Uh, Dex is my game, getaway is my name. Fuck, I messed that up. Shut the fuck up, Nursey.” A couple of elbows were traded back and forth before Shitty cleared his throat to get their attention.

Nursey spoke up next. “Like Dex tried to explain, we’re usually in charge of getting everyone from Point A to Point B. Though we both are good at either, I’m typically in charge of air support while Good Ol’ Gingy over here covers the ground. We’ll get you where you need to go, and fast.”

“We could always use someone new that doesn’t drive like a grandpa, Shits,” teased Jack. “We’ll let you have a week trial-run and then decide. You can stay in the guest rooms for the time being.”

Dex and Nursey pushed each other some more while Chowder bounced up and down whispering, “Oh my god!” on repeat.

* * *

In the following week, they performed a couple of lowkey heists for supplies. One such heist found Bitty and Chowder on a completely legally obtained jet ski, speeding across the bay. They’d been looking into another gang’s hideout near Boston’s Logan International Airport, and land-based getaways were too vulnerable for airport security measures. Therefore: jet ski.

“Chowder, uh, you don’t think that there’re any… y’know… sharks?”

“Oh! Well, I mean, back in 2014 there were tons of reports about great white spottings. Wouldn’t that be so cool?”

“Cool? What on earth is goin’ on in that brain of yours?”

“Well,” Chowder started, his grip around Bitty’s waist shifting so he could lean closer to his ear. “Before all this, I used to work to steal sharks from Sea World and release them into the wild. Not the ones born in captivity – I doubt they’d be able to make it on their own. Anyways, that’s where I picked up hacking and stuff. Had to get into the systems that control the locks and cameras.”

Bitty just nodded and gulped, unsure of how to take this new information.

“But don’t worry about it, Bits,” Chowder continued. “If we meet one, I’ll talk to it.”

Eric shook his head and focused back on steering them into the marina where Dex and Nursey were waiting.

It would’ve been fine, if Chowder hadn’t spotted a dorsal fin out in the bay and, in his excitement, flailed enough to flip the jet ski. It puttered forward a couple yards before stopping without its riders.

That would’ve been fine, too, Bitty would later assure everyone ( _bless his heart_ , he’d say, words sharp and not dripping with honey like they had gotten accustomed to). It would’ve been fine to be soaked in the middle of October, floating a good distance from their ride. It would’ve been fine.

“I told you, let me talk to him!”

Eric Bittle was absolutely certain he’d seen the last of Chowder when he disappeared into the dark water. He was already planning his I’m-really-sorry-I-killed-our-excitable-rookie pie. Maybe a lemon custard with raspberries and-

Chowder’s head emerged from the water about a minute later. The boy was giggling and beckoning Bitty over.

“He wants to meet you!”

“Chowder, there is no way in hell that I am going to swim over to a several-ton monster.”

“Hey! Don’t let him hear you say that. It’ll hurt his feelings.” He pouted for a moment before turning his too-bright smile towards Bitty again. “Just one pat and then we can go.”

Bitty reluctantly swam over, water dragging at his shoes. It made it a little difficult to navigate in the bay, but when he got closer, he could see the shark swimming tight circles around his crewmate.

“Give him a pat! He loves it right behind his gills! And on his nose!”

Bitty reluctantly stuck out a hand before placing it underwater and jumping at the rough sensation waiting below.

Bitty had always assumed sharks were smooth. In the water, they look so graceful and terrifying and sleek, but the skin he felt was similar to sandpaper. He’d have to ask Chowder about it later.

“Awh!” Chowder cooed. “He likes you!”

“Okay, great, we pet the shark. Can we please make like a bat out of hell and go home?” Bitty only felt mildly betrayed by his voice as it rose toward the end of his statement.

“Just one kiss and then we’ll be good to go!” the younger member said before ducking back under the surface again. When he popped back up, he began paddling towards the forgotten jet ski.

* * *

“What the hell took you so long? Even Nursey here was close to losing his chill,” Dex erupted at the as soon as Bittle and Chowder came within hearing range.

“Did not, dude. Shut up,” was the only comeback Nursey could come up with.

“I made a new friend!” Chowder exclaimed, face lighting up the same way it had out on the water.

“What? With another gang? Jack won’t be too happy to hear that, bro,” Nursey said, head tilted to the side in confusion.

“No! A shark!”

“A what?” Dex finally got around to noticing that the two men were dripping wet. “What the fuck? You were attacked by a shark in October?”

“Well, no, not attacked. We just said hello! And it’s not uncommon, actually. There were lots of reports about it back in-”

“Okay, woah. We’re gonna have to just skip this story for another day. Dex and I have some quality sitcoms to fight over. You’re not throwing off our night with your weird shark-whispering story, okay? Chill.”

* * *

Jack had been pouring over Bittle’s board since the smaller man left on his recon mission. He was carefully sticking green thumbtacks into other gangs’ hideouts that they’ve discovered in the past. Yellow thumbtacks marked places they’d already scouted out. Red thumbtacks meant Jack had picked up some intel from one place or another but hadn’t confirmed.

“They wouldn’t’ve kept it close to the airfield they came from. That’d just be stupid. Easy getaway,” Jack mumbled to himself.

“Unless they knew that you’d be try’na piece it together and would rule it out just based on that,” a voice behind him lilted.

Jack jumped a little before setting his face back to a blank mask. Despite the thin walls, he still never managed to hear anything. Maybe he should get his hearing checked.

“No kingpin would organize their operation around what I would think.”

“Maybe not, but it would be awfully convenient to just put it in a place everyone else would rule out.”

Jack rolled his shoulders and thinks about that. “Okay, yeah, maybe.” He’s not usually one to listen to suggestions, especially not from people that he has effectively been avoiding for the past week, but maybe Bittle is on to something. “What would be your first guess?”

“Honestly? One of Harvard’s houses. It’s close ‘nough to an international airport that the police will do most of the work for them. Maybe Shitty has some ins with the cops over there. I know he knows a lot of folks around Cambridge.”

“Good idea. We’ll tell everyone and get ready to heist tomorrow, eh? Hope you’ve been practicing.”


	6. Do You Wanna Know If This Feeling Goes Both Ways?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ["another one bites the dust" plays in the background]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo sorry i promise i'm here
> 
> hyenalab drew the short straw and now has to listen to my nonsense on skype and i love her for it. also she's a bamf beta.

Whether it was the anxiety of a heist or the sounds of Ransom, Holster, and one (or more) girl next door, Jack didn’t get much sleep. Still, he couldn’t help but return Bittle’s blinding smile as he served up the freshly baked Quiche Lorraine.

Ransom and Holster stumbled out of their room a few minutes later, necks and bare chests both proudly brandishing proof of their night. Bitty winced when he saw the long scratch marks crossing Holster’s left pec, but otherwise he said nothing. Jack wasn’t so strong.

“Good night, eh?”

The two entering boys stopped and appraised Jack’s mood. Seeing that he seemed to be in a better humor than the last few days, they both laughed and fist bumped.

“Bro, it was ‘swawesome,” Holster supplied while Ransom made some obscene gestures with his hips.

“Great. Maybe next time, don’t bring girls back to the base of a gang. Just a thought.”

Holster and Ransom immediately stopped their post-sex celebration, dawning looks of realization on each of their faces. “Oops,” they offered, hanging their heads and slinking over to the table.

The rookies emerged together a little later, Dex and Nursey already fighting about something despite the early hour. Chowder’s hands were clamped over his ears, and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. The only thing guiding him towards the kitchen was his nose.

When they reached the table Jack loudly cleared his throat, causing Dex to cease his rant and Nursey to glance up from where he’d been examining his nails.

“Chowder?” Jack started. “Would you mind finding Shitty and Lardo?”

“Absolutely, Jack!” Chowder replied, springing out from his seat, eager to get away from the tension that always buzzed between his friends. The group sat in silence until the rookie returned with a half-asleep Shitty and a scowling Lardo in tow.

“Everybody, listen up! Here’s the game plan: Shitty, you’re gonna run interference with the cops. I know you’ve got connections to a couple of men on the force, so use them. Lardo will be there to help out.” Lardo and Shitty high fived. “Chowder, you’re on security detail. Use that new machine or whatever that we bought you and do whatever it is you do to it. Unlock doors, hack cameras, anything you can to give us the upper hand and ruin their day. Dex, Nursey, we need to get out of there as quickly as possible when it’s over. Air travel would be ideal, but it’s likely that they have more air defense than ground defense so I’m counting on you to figure out the best getaway strategy. Bittle and I,” he turned to finally look down at Bittle. He felt something twist unexpectedly in his chest from the way the blond was timidly staring up at him through his eyelashes. The feeling wasn’t unlike the beginnings of a panic attack: racing heart, difficulty catching his breath, the shakiness of his hands and knees. But the terrifying thoughts didn’t claw into his brain and gnaw on his sanity like normal. He pushed the feeling back down into the pit of his stomach and continued, “Bittle and I will go in and scout the place out. Our hope is to either find the Cup or take someone who does. Ransom and Holster, you’re working backup. Protect us at all costs. Everyone got it?” The crew nodded. “Good. Let’s find that Cup then, eh?”

* * *

Bitty was sharpening his knives like Jack had taught him the day before. The sound of metal across the grit grounded him while he tried his best to envision the worryingly vague plan the sniper had laid out.

Now that he’d been on a few smaller jobs, he felt more comfortable in his combat skills. He even was adjusting to the reality of having killed people. That fact alone shocked him more than the actual death did, but he supposed Shitty’s advice had finally paid off. He wasn’t a bad person; he just did bad things. They all did. They’d all known what they were getting into.

In fact, Bitty had picked up one of Jack’s habits: a dozen carefully carved tallies stood out from the brown paint covering the wall above the side of his bed. He idly wondered if he would be adding any more after tonight’s job. _I just do bad things_ , he mentally reminded himself.

Once all his knives were sharpened and sheathed, he rose from the edge of his bed and hid Señor Bunny under the pillows after placing a gentle kiss to his nose. Bitty was pretty sure that pies could be excused, but gangsters may not forgive a stuffed animal. (He just couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it; Señor Bunny was one of the few things he’d managed to grab on his way out the door).

When Eric stood up, his knees and back popped, releasing tension he hadn’t been aware he was holding. He rolled his neck to each side, reveling in the controlled burn the motions elicited. As he rolled it back, feeling the popping that rose, he heard someone knock cautiously at the door before peeking in. Due to the fact that only one person in this damn Haus actually knocked, Bitty already knew who it was before turning to face him.

“Hiya, Jack! Whatchya need?”

“I, uh-” the sniper stumbled, suddenly unsure of what exactly he was doing bothering Bittle before a heist. He glanced down at whatever he was holding behind the door and was quickly reminded. Toeing the door open enough to fit through, he wordlessly held a plate up to Bitty’s face. When Bittle just cocked a silent eyebrow back at him, he supplied, “I figured if we’re working together, my pre-heist, uh, tradition only works if everyone does it.”

Eric eyed the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, still trying to process the words. “You’re lettin’ participate in the sacred PB&J? I must be dreamin’!”

Jack rolled his eyes but the slight grin on his face cancelled the action out. He picked up his own sandwich and sunk his teeth into the corner. Bitty quickly grabbed the plate and mirrored him.

Bitty prided himself on making things that taste good: exquisite pies, delicate pastries, superb dishes. There’s nothing Bitty hasn’t made that someone hasn’t moaned about extensively. But that sandwich? Bittle had no idea what Jack put in that sandwich, but it was one of the best things he’d ever eaten.

Apparently he’d said that aloud because Jack replied, “Sliced strawberries. They make it more substantial, eh? A bit of honey, too.”

“This is- I can’t- Wow, Jack. I can see why you’d eat this every time. Can I add it to my recipe book?” he asked, glancing over to a battered notebook.

Jack nodded, staring at him with this _look_ that Bitty couldn’t quite decipher. He almost looked like he wanted to _say_ something, but Bitty was sure he couldn’t be correct about that. He couldn’t imagine Jack holding back anything he wanted to say, when the guy was so confident.

“Is there somethin’ on my face?”

The taller man seemed to snap out of whatever reverie he’d fallen into watching Eric and shook his head. “Yeah, uh, no, um, there’s nothing there. I need to go, um, wash my, um, hands?” And with that the sniper rushed out of the room, leaving Bitty with a partially eaten sandwich, a fluttering feeling  in his chest, and a handful of questions.

* * *

It took longer than anticipated, but Jack and Bitty were finally crouched down behind some barrels sitting near Harvard’s base. It had been tricky to locate, but through diligent watching of hacked security feeds (Chowder) and secretly following Harvard’s top members (Nursey and Dex), they were able to find it. Now, Bitty’s hand felt sweaty around the grip of his SMG he’d been training with. His shoulder was still a little sore from the kickback of today’s training, but he tried to put that out of his mind and focus on Jack’s slow breathing next to him.

His finger tapped impatiently on the trigger guard but quickly stopped after the pointed look he’d gotten from Jack. Jack was keeping watch on the door of the base while Ransom and Holster finished getting ready.

“Do you see anythin’?” Bittle asked for the fourth time since they’d gotten into position.

“No, Bittle. I haven’t seen anything since the first time you asked. I’ll tell you if I see something.”

Bittle definitely didn’t pout after that, not even for one second.

The comms crackled to life as Shitty spoke. “I managed to get the police in the area distracted.” There was an explosion and then silence. “In fact, I think a lot of people will be very fucking distracted.”

“Yo, Shits, did you just fucking blow something up?” Ransom said, finally stepping behind Jack and Bitty and squatting.

“It better not have been that donut place we love. I will never forgive you if you blew up the donut place,” Holster added, cocking his gun and joining the other three men.

Lardo jumped in immediately. “It was not in fact the donut place. I’ll give you a hint. What’s black and white and drives on about one-hundred wheels?”

There was a brief beat of silence while the four men glanced around at each other. Finally, Jack chuckled under his breath and answered, “You blew up the parking lot of patrol cars, didn’t you?”

“Yup.” She popped the ‘p’ harder than necessary and laughed herself. “You know, I thought they took these things home. Seems to me like they were just asking for it.”

“Damn, Lards. You’re one cold motherfucker,” Ransom remarked.

“And that’s why she’s the fucking best, bros!” exclaimed Shitty while a crackling on the line suggested he was in the process of hugging her.

“Okay, so the police are distracted and no one is outside the base. I think it’s time to move in,” Jack decided, removing his own SMG and swinging his rifle onto his back. “One step closer to victory, eh?”

* * *

It should’ve gone perfectly. They had the element of surprise and four well-trained men (well, three plus the still-learning Bitty). Jack and Bitty worked together like a dream. Bitty didn’t need to check behind him to know exactly where Jack was, where he was aiming, who he was fighting. Bitty was able to gun down three men in the living room, two in the kitchen, and one in a side bedroom. Jack took out several guys before Bitty could even see them. They were working in tandem, Jack’s confident shot and Bitty’s swift reflexes. Jack didn’t have to tell Bitty to duck when he needed to take a shot; Eric simply did it.

Ransom and Holster were providing cover fire, but there wasn’t really much for them to handle. Jack and Bitty were the most effective strategy they’d seen.

So when Jack turned to face Bittle after clearing out another room, he didn’t expect to find Bittle fighting hand-to-hand with a man nearly twice his size. Jack didn’t expect to find Bittle fighting the _Kingpin_. Jack didn’t expect to see Bittle come face-to-face with the butt of a gun three times before crumpling to the ground.

“Bitty!”

Jack didn’t expect to find himself seeing red.

* * *

Ransom and Holster told it like this: Bittle ran out of ammo and couldn’t reload in time. He pulled out two knives and decided to take on the behemoth of a man by himself. He fought hard. He lost hard. Before Harvard’s kingpin could kill him, Jack shot him six times in the knee. Ransom and Holster finally caught up to him and pulled him back.

“We have to keep him alive. The Cup’s not here, and we need more information. If you kill him, we’ve lost what little progress we’ve made,” Ransom said sternly.

Holster rushed to the kingpin’s side and pressed his hands down on the bullet holes to stop the bleeding. They looked like they’d all gone straight through, so they wouldn’t have to do much surgery if any. He would live, as long as they slowed the blood loss and got him back to their warehouse where their crew doctor would meet them.

Jack shouldered his gun and hurried to where Eric laid crumpled on the ground, head bleeding and badly needing stitches. When asked later, he didn’t remember holding Bittle’s unconscious body and crying.


	7. I Never Knew This Side of Me... And I Know That We've Only Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bitty knew first

It was dark when Bittle woke up. He could hear someone talking softly behind a door, could hear breathing beside him. The pounding in his head didn’t subside as he rolled onto his back, and his muscles screamed a familiar tune of exhaustion when he lifted his hand to rub his eyes. Since he wasn’t sure where he was, he decided to address the long, slow breaths next to him first.

“Coach? Is that you?”

The silence that followed would’ve been deafening if not for the relief from noises pressing like a hot iron against his temples.

“No, Bittle. It’s me,” someone whispered.

It took him a moment to place the voice, but he finally asked, “Jack? What- How- Where am I?”

“You’re in your bed in the Haus. You took a hard hit. What do you remember?” Bittle thought back to the last thing he remembered: the Kingpin. 

“I emptied my clip and couldn’t… I thought I could take him down by myself. I’ve been trainin’ like you said, and normally I’m fast ‘nough and-” He was cut off by Jack raising a single, calloused hand.

“It’s not your fault. I was supposed to have your back. I’m so sorry.” His vowels stretched in his now-familiar accent, causing the side of Bitty’s mouth to curve up despite the pain.

“Let’s just agree to disagree about that, mkay?” Jack nodded once and then shifted uncomfortably in the desk chair. “How long have I been out, Mr. Zimmermann?”

“Twenty-two hours and,” he glanced at his phone, “forty-three minutes. The doctor stitched you up while you were asleep. Said you would probably have a concussion and to watch you.”

In the dim light, he could roughly make out Jack’s outline. His hair, from what he could tell, was sticking up as if someone had run their hands through it repeatedly for the last day. “Am I mistaken in assumin’ that _you_ ’ _ve_ been takin’ care of me all day?”

Jack slowly shook his head and then exhaled. “I couldn’t, um, leave you after I let you get-” He took another deep breath. “I wouldn’t- I couldn’t relax until you woke up. It was-” he stopped before he could say _my fault._ His voice was so strained, the anxiety and fear – wait, is Jack Zimmermann _afraid_ of something? – were evident in the way he chose his words.

It was quiet again for a couple of minutes while both men thought about what Jack had just admitted. It was absolutely earth-shattering to Bitty that within a couple of weeks, the sniper could go from detesting the very notion of Eric joining the crew to essentially admitting that he was terrified of what might happen to him.

He thought back to the list of things Jack wasn’t that he’d mentally made. Back then, he’d duly noted that Jack wasn’t afraid of him, wasn’t unsure around weapons, wasn’t fucking around, and most importantly, wasn’t his friend. But he was starting to realize just how wrong he’d been. He knew now that even though Jack wasn’t afraid _of_ him, he was afraid _for_ him. Bittle had seen first-hand the way Jack’s hands could shake around unfamiliar guns and unbalanced knives. He’d seen the way Jack and Shitty and the rest of the crew joked around with each other, from bets and drinking games to cuddling. Lastly, he had never been more wrong than he was about whether or not Jack was his friend.

Because the truth was, Jack had been looking out for him from the beginning. The early morning practices, the reminders to eat protein, the steady shove towards being better than he was: they were all to keep Bittle safe in this dangerous world he’d stumbled into.

Eric gazed at his own hands as they trembled in front of his face. He hadn’t realized how grateful he was that Jack took him under his wing until now. The man had spent the whole day staring at his unconscious body, most likely waiting for each new breath to assure himself that the blond was still alive.

As he thought about the things Jack had done for him since they met, he was filled with unending gratitude. Had he gone into the heist yesterday without all Jack’s training and the support of the crew, he would’ve surely been killed within the first minute.

He continued reflecting on how Jack had lightened up so significantly since that first day: Jack’s chirping often kept him busy while he cooked, and Jack’s smile from across the hall was one of the last things he saw each night. They’d grown so close, so quickly, unlike any other person he’d met.

The feeling in Bitty’s chest was almost unbearable. The flipping of his stomach was unbearable, and he was suddenly glad that he hadn’t eaten anything recently.

He breathed slowly, and it passed, soon leaving Bitty with only one thought: he was totally head-over-heels for Jack Zimmermann.

* * *

Nine days after his startling realization – which honestly should not have been as surprising to Bitty as it was – Shitty slammed his door open. Jack had been on his knees in front of Bittle, looking between the wikiHow and the blond’s face, tenderly pulling out the last of the stitches. They both looked up as the mustached man entered, eyes wide at the sudden intrusion.

“Thought those weren’t supposed to come out for a couple more days, Bits?”

“They itched, ‘n Jack said the wounds had healed ‘nough. Didn’t know he’d earned his medical degree online though,” he answered, narrowed eyes aimed like lasers at Jack’s unapologetic face.

“Okay, fine, whatever. You both are weird motherfuckers.” He paused, waiting for the two men to ask the question he was waiting for. Eric broke first.

“Fine. What’ya need, Shits?”

“I, through well-constructed arguments and ethical methods of persuasion, convinced our friend from Harvard to give up some information on the Cup. Wanna come out and talk?”

Jack immediately stood up and threw his arms around Shitty. Bitty joined in after a moment, deciding to fuck it and just go for it.

* * *

Once they’d all crowded into the boardroom, Shitty produced a creased white card with black print. The text was small, but Bitty could make out a name in neat typeface. Before he could ask, however, he pointed straight to Eric with an insane grin on his face.

“Eric Richard Bittle, have you ever been to Chicago?”

Bittle backed up a bit in surprise. “No, sir. Hardly ever been north of the Mason-Dixon Line before a couple months ago.”

“Good, good. And are you ready for the most fucking ‘swawesome party this crew has ever seen?”

“Uh, yes?” He hoped that was the right thing to say.

“’Swawesome. Ladies and gents and nonbinary pals, let me introduce you to the one and only Eric Boynton from Madison, Georgia. This little fucker here is studying law at U Chicago, and his drug dealer gave him an invitation to take his long-time boyfriend to the craziest party they’ve ever fuckin’ seen. The only problem? We still have to find his lucky date.” Shitty carefully scanned the crew. Lardo probably should’ve taken a picture of their confusion to use as references for her next project. She stood up to take over.

“Okay, we found this invitation on the kingpin. After some _gentle_ goading, we found out that Northwestern, a gang out of Chicago, has the Cup. They’ve been flying it around, like Bitty suspected, but they’ve stationed it back in Chicago for their next party. Looks like they want to show it off or whatever. Before Johnson fucked off to God-knows-where, he mentioned using Bits as the frontman for this one. I second his decision: Bitty’s good but still unknown. He won’t stick out from a crowd, but he can get this shit done.”

Shitty nodded, smiling down at Eric. “What do you say, lil man?”

Eric stared up at him, thoughts flying a million miles a minute. But before he could get too caught up in them, he tried to clear them from his mind and just take the opportunity. Ignoring the buzzing anxiety inside him, he flashed a bright grin at the two masterminds in front of him and said, “Now just where would y’all be without me? Count me in.”

Shitty did a silent fist pump before returning his gaze to the rest of the crew. “But Bitty-boo can’t go with his bae. Who’s up for the trip?” An uncomfortable quiet fell over the room. “Look, you don’t actually have to fucking bang him! Just hold hands like total bros and get close enough to the Cup to fucking take it.”

Finally, Chowder raised a hand. “I guess, uh, I could do it? No one knows my face, either. I mean, except Sir Nibbles.” Everyone turned to him with questions written all over their faces. “Oh, you know! The shark Bitty and I met in October? His name is Sir Nibbles.”

“O…kay…. Anyway!” Shitty muttered before turning to Jack. “You good with that plan, Cap?”

Jack’s face was blank as he eyed first Chowder, then Eric. “You would send two frogs?”

The question caused Shitty to cock his head to the side before he registered the tense line of Jack’s shoulders and annoyed glances between the aforementioned rookies. “No, no, you’re right, brah. Chow, Dex, and Nurse are out. Too new.” He kept his eyes locked on Jack’s as he said, “Holster?”

Lardo spoke up. “Holster’s too tall. He’d be too easy to spot at the party. You’re a pretty memorable guy, Holsty.” He shot her finger guns and a wink.

Shitty was still staring directly at the sniper who was staring coolly right back. “How about you, Rans?”

“Nah, Shitty,” Lardo said with a smirk, as she caught on to Jack’s straight back and on-going staring contest with Shitty. “Rans is a terrible liar. He’d get found out the second he opened his mouth. There’s no way that Ransom could escort Bitty.”

“Well, I can’t do it. I’m too busy setting up the extraction plan. Lards?”

“Nada. The story we were given from the King Douche from Harvard said that the plus one was definitely for a boyfriend and it’s pretty well-known. Sorry Bits, but I’ve got the wrong bits for this job.” She saluted him before following Shitty’s lead in attempting to stare through Jack Zimmermann’s skull. “Looks like you’re the only choice left, Jacky.”

Bitty immediately sat up in his chair, struggling to come up with some excuse – literally _any_ excuse would work – to not have to pretend to be dating Jack. The idea alone had him reliving the fire-and-ice combo that always came from thinking about the Canadian. He didn’t even want to think of looking at Jack because he could already feel the blush burning through his cheeks, over his ears, and down his neck and chest. He’d always hated the way his face would redden at the slightest things, especially when it came to cute boys who were also technically kind of your boss and now had to pretend-date you? (Okay, Bitty would be the first to admit that that situation hadn’t really come up much in his life, but unfortunately _it had now._ )        

Jack finally broke away from the weird standoff he’d been having with Shitty. He fixed his bright blue eyes on Bitty as he grinned. “’Swawesome, eh?”


	8. So We Can Go Back and Play Pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just droppin' off some pinin' fluffy goodness b4 bringin' down the pain, y'all

Bitty was pacing in his room when Jack knocked and stuck his head in. It reminded him of the day before, before he got beaten into the ground by a man who might’ve eaten two of him. The memory caused him to cringe slightly, which of-fucking-course Jack picked up on.

“I can, um, come back later?” Bitty glanced at his phone before he sighed and waved the sniper into his room. They both sat on the bed in silence until Eric spoke up.

“It’s not you. It’s just… rememberin’, and all that? I feel like I’m back to square one.”

“It’ll get better when we get back out there, eh? Just remember to breathe and take the hits like I showed you.” Jack clapped a heavy hand to Bittle’s shoulder and squeezed. Bittle leaned into the movement, and soon Jack’s arm was wrapped around the blond’s shoulders and his face was buried in golden hair. They sat like that for a while, quietly making small talk until the door swung open.

“Good, you two are already practicing!” Ransom cheered before turning to Holster who was following obediently. “I told you Jack was a better fit. So quit’cher bitchin’, Nancy.”

Holster grumbled something at Ransom before turning a cheerful smile towards the two men awkwardly huddled together on the quilt. “Nurse and Dex are leaving for the airport in ten minutes. Jack, Shitty wants to talk to you about something. Before you ask, no, I dunno what about, bro.”

Bitty almost sighed in relief when Jack slipped out of the room behind Ransom and Holster. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be near Jack – just the opposite, really. He was afraid that he would be too close to the Canadian, would say something wrong or do something against the Almighty Bro Code.

Still, he could feel the lingering warmth of Jack’s hand, the comfort that had come with the close proximity. He let his mind idly wonder what it would be like to call that warmth home, to feel more of it more often. He shook his head and reeled his mind back in – no use musing on things he couldn’t have.

* * *

Shitty was tying his hair back with a bandana when Jack walked into his room.

“Ah, Jacky-boy! Just the man I was looking for!”

Jack grunted in response, adding, “I have to leave in a couple of minutes, and Bitty and I still have to work out a lot of the details of our relationship.” He paused and blushed as he realized what he said. “I mean, um, the fake one. The one for the heist. Uh, the fake relationship for the heist where we have to pretend at a party. That one.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, you beautiful motherfucker!” Shitty’s eyes suddenly narrowed, reminding Jack of an impending storm. Shitty sidled up and wrapped his arm around Jack’s shoulders, leaning into his ear and saying;  “If you do _anything_ to Bitty – especially without his consent – that will hurt him _in any way_ , I have _full_ permission from Johnson to tear you apart limb from motherfucking limb.” He took a deep breath and patted the sniper’s arm, grinning as he pulled away.

Confused, Jack sputtered, “Why would you –”

“Nope,” Shitty cut him off with a wave of his hand. “That’s all I’ve got to say. Your ride’s leaving soon, buddy. I’ll see you on the other side.”

* * *

Jack and Bitty sat in awkward silence on the short ride to the airport. Nursey tried several times to engage either of them in conversation (neither “How about those Habs, am I right?” nor “I always thought that blueberry muffins were better than chocolate chip. You?” elicited any responses). Dex tried to carry on Nurse’s attempts, but mostly it either devolved into them bickering or more awkward silence.

Finally, they arrived at the airport. They were taking a commercial flight out there but were hoping that they could secure a private plane back to Massachusetts with the Cup. Bitty hadn’t had much time to think everything through, but he now realized that this meant that he and Jack would be squished together on a crowded airplane, already having to act their part in case anyone from Northwestern recognized them later.

Dex unloaded the bags from the trunk, and Bitty spared a thought to wonder who had packed their suitcases before deciding he probably didn’t want to know the answer. Flipping his hat around, Dex  stepped in front of Bitty with a concerned frown.

“You gotta be more careful this time, dude. Let Jack handle any more kingpins.”

“Yeah,” Nursey chuckled. “I’m sure your boyfriend is more than happy to help you out.” With a wink, he turned back to the car, Dex in tow.

Jack stood awkwardly at Eric’s side, tension rolling off of him. Eric cleared his throat because they _did_ have a plane to catch, after all, and the sniper flinched at the sound. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he said “I guess it’s time, eh?”

Bittle nodded before picking up his bag and starting the walk towards security. In a moment of bravery, he slipped his hand into Jack’s and intertwined their fingers. Jack startled again but relaxed much more quickly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Inside, Bitty was absolutely panicking. He had felt like they needed to establish a baseline, a common denominator of their fake relationship (Bitty mentally frowned at the word ‘fake’, but he _had_ to remember this would be temporary). Once they had their boarding passes and matching forged IDs – Shitty would have a cow if they didn’t get through security due to his handiwork – they joined the long queue of people already waiting.

“Well, Jacques Zacharies, I, Eric Boynton, am pleased as punch that we’re finally able to take this vacation together.”

Jack laughed and shifted his bag on his shoulder, squeezing Eric’s hand. “Me too. But I do feel kind of naked without all my, um, accessories?”

Snorting, Eric nodded in agreement. “Surely your _mom and dad_ left some at our hotel, right?”

The idea of Shitty and Lardo being one of their parents was delightful, and Bitty giggled longer than would’ve normally been appropriate. Jack must’ve thought it was funny too, with how his shoulders were shaking.

When they reached the security agent, Bitty nervously placed his ID and boarding pass on the podium. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes when he looked up at the agent.

“What kind of business do you have in Chicago, Mr. Boynton?" the man asked.

“I, uh,” Bitty weakly offered.

“We're taking a couple's retreat to Chicago.” Jack interrupted to wrap his arm around Bittle's shoulders and kiss his temple. “It's his first time traveling by air, so Eric's pretty nervous. Aren't you, mon petit chou?”

The flushed smile that spread across Bitty's face as he beamed at Jack was good enough for the agent. He held his hand out to grab Jack's documents and quickly checked them off.

“You boys are good to go. And Boynton?”

Bitty's grin faltered as he felt his chest seize up. “Yessir?”

“The hardest part is landing. Good luck.”

* * *

When they were safely buckled into their seats (“ _We're gangsters, not animals. Buckle your damn seatbelt, Jack.”_ ) and thirty thousand feet in the air, Eric heaved a sigh of relief.

“I can't believe that actually worked,” he muttered.

Jack shrugged. “Just got to play the part, Eric.”

Right. The part. The role of boyfriends on a magical getaway to attend a party in Chicago. Whereupon they'd return to Boston and everything would go back to normal. Bittle sighed again.

Jack mistook this as Eric being tired and lifted the arm of the seat. “I've heard I make a very good pillow.”

Bitty was torn. He did feel a little sleepy now that he thought about it, and it wouldn't be a weird thing for supposed-boyfriends to do, either. But the part of Eric that longed for this kind of normal intimacy with Jack hesitated. He needed those warm smiles and casual shoulder bumps and clasped hands held under tables. It seemed so possible here, but Bitty was determined to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground.

If he ended up falling asleep with Jack's arm around him, well that was just a complete and utter coincidence.

* * *

Despite sleeping on the plane, Bitty flopped onto the bed with a huff, clutching his SMG lovingly in his arms. He was still a little sleepy from his nap, but he was pretty certain he heard Jack whispering sweet-nothings to his rifle.

“Y'know, as much as I missed Betsy,” he motioned to his gun, “I don't think we can just carry these guns into a party, Jack.”

Jack halted his admiration to glance up at Bitty. “Oh, yeah, um. I guess you've got a point.”

Bitty hummed in agreement before suddenly noticing something.

“Hey, Jack?”

The sniper grunted in acknowledgement.

“Did'ya notice something off about this room?”

Jack scanned the room a couple times before settling his eyes on where Bittle was sat on the duvet. He shook his head, seeing nothing.

“I thought we asked for two twin beds.”

* * *

Sharing a bed with Bittle was _not_ a problem. Jack didn’t even mind the cold toes digging into his calves or the soft snuffling that came with Bitty’s sleep. In fact, he found it quite endearing: in all the ways that Eric might present himself as hard and sharp for the crew, he was nothing but quiet snoring and smooth skin when he’s asleep.

So no, Jack didn’t have a problem sharing a bed with Bittle – in theory. In practice, he quickly realized why this was a bad idea.

In the brief period of time that Jack was asleep, Bitty had managed to completely wrap himself up in Jack’s limbs. The blond’s leg was swung over Jack’s hip and tucked in between the back of his thighs. The sniper couldn’t remember moving at all, but somehow his arms completely encased the smaller man, forcing Bitty’s head against Jack’s collar bone.

Jack tried to remember the last time theory and practice were so distant from each other that they probably couldn’t recognize each other on the street.

For a passing moment, Jack let himself pretend that this was okay. He closed his eyes and burrowed his face into Bittle’s hair and just breathed him in. Later, he would probably feel gross about this (wasn’t this exactly what Shitty warned him not to do?) but for the time being, he let himself bask in the sensation of Bitty’s sleep-warm skin on his own. Without thinking, he pressed a gentle kiss to Eric’s head and fell soundly asleep.

* * *

Neither of them mentioned it when they woke up in the morning. Instead, Jack convinced Bittle to head down to the hotel’s workout room and run a couple miles ( _“Twelve is not ‘a couple’, Mr. Zimmermann!”_ ) and practice sparring to get Bitty used to being in combat again. Jack really hoped that Bitty’s lingering fear was due to the kingpin.

When they were finished and back upstairs, Bittle immediately set to sharpening his knives. Jack showered as slowly as he could, letting his anxiety wash over him like the water.

Had he gone too far by snuggling in last night? He didn’t know who started it, or even what _it_ really was, but he was still combatting the idea that it was his fault.

He liked Bittle, that much he knew. He also knew that there was no way Bittle could return his affections; he’d been nothing but cold and calculating until this mission. Where could Eric possibly find enough positive traits in Jack to do anything other than tolerate him?

Rinsing himself off, he stepped out of the shower. He cocked his head to the side when he heard Bittle speaking to someone. Jack immediately cursed himself for not bringing at least a knife into the bathroom with him in case someone caught them. Words flowed into the bathroom, only slightly muffled by the door.

“Yes, mama, I promise I’m bein’ safe. Found some nice people in Boston to live with. Rent’s really cheap, too! I just have to do odd jobs for them from time to time,” Jack laughed to himself at the phrasing. Technically the only thing he’d lied about was being safe, and even then, he was being as safe as he could manage given the circumstances. “Yeah, no. Shitty sent me and – yes, mama, that’s his name! – me and Jack on trip to Chicago. We’re only here for a night, goin’ to a party tonight! Some kids from… Northwestern University are hosting it downtown.”

Jack wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped into the room. One thumb stuck up in the air, mirroring his eyebrow, as he silently asked Bitty if he was okay. Bitty nodded and returned to listening to his mother.

“Yes, yes. I know, I should’ve called sooner. We’ve just been so busy with all our h– work. Plus, these boys don’t know how to feed themselves at all! We Bittles gotta do what we can!”

Lying on the bed, Jack listened to the rest of Bitty’s side of the conversation. When Eric hung up, he turned to Jack and smiled.

“Mama Bittle says, ‘Hello!’ Also, she wanted to thank you for taking care of me when I ‘fell and hit my head on the stairs.’ I thank you for that, too, by the way.”

A companionable silence fell between the two men before Bitty excused himself for his own shower.


	9. With a Thousand Lies and a Good Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: brief torture

Bitty had always known that he looked good in a suit. The bowtie is a little crooked, but the red of the silk brought out the blush high on his cheeks. Jack had just finished looking him over, making sure all his knives are hidden properly, and the whole ordeal had left him a little… flustered.

Jack stepped in front of the mirror to try his hand at straightening Bittle’s tie.

“Bittle, relax. You look good, mon ange.”

Bittle wasn’t sure what Jack had just called him, but from the tone of voice, he surmised that maybe it wasn’t completely platonic. Yeah, they had to act the parts in public, but they still hadn’t left their hotel room. Maybe Jack was just trying to stay in character, Bitty thought to himself. Right, that had to be it.

“The party started twenty minutes ago. Should we head out?” asked Eric.

“You’ve got the invitations?” Bitty patted his pocket and nodded. “Then, Monsieur Boynton, would you accompany me to cette soirée?”

Bitty flushed further with a giggle. “Absolutely, Mr. Zacharies. I can’t imagine anythin’ else I’d rather do.”

* * *

The trip through Chicago hadn’t been bad, just a little unpleasant – they hadn’t been able to catch a taxi and wound up having to walk despite the crowds. The streets were fairly busy, even for a Friday night, and people kept bumping into the two gangsters. Eric was a little indignant.

“I don’t get it. I’m a normal size! Why do these animals keep knockin’ into us? Into you?”

“It’s fine, Eric. It’s _Chicago_. That’s just how it is. You know, like New York,” Jack hesitated, “which you haven’t been to. Right.”

Bitty squeezed Jack’s hand in response, relishing in the sheepish grin he received.

The party itself was held at a large house on the outskirts of the city. The lot was pretty large, taking up most of the prime real estate along the shore. The two men stopped in front of the looming gate.

“You two here for the party or not?” Eric startled at the voice before realizing that there was a man tending the gate. He quickly pulled out the invitations and presented them to the bouncer.

“Yessir. Boynton-comma-Eric. Brought my boyfriend, too.”

The man looked at them closely before extending a clipboard in their direction. “Sign here, both of you. Also I thought you were taller, Boynton.”

Eric froze, pen hovering near his name on the page. Jack proceeded to step in to rescue him. “He gets that a lot. Sometimes he wears taller shoes to try to fit in with us giants.”

The guard barked a laugh and passed the board to Jack. “Haven’t met you before. What’s your name, hermano?”

“Jacques Zacharies. French-Canadian and I’m not even sorry about it.” He stressed the word sorry to flaunt his accent.

Another laugh from the bouncer and soon Eric and Jack were being waved towards the front door.

Inside, the Cup was sitting on a round table positioned at the base of a grand staircase. A glass case enclosed it, locked. Both men were momentarily distracted while they stared at the silvery trophy. After a moment, Bitty breaks their silence.

“Y’know, I kinda thought it’d be, I dunno… bigger?”

* * *

Noise floated over Jack’s head as he waited for the bartender behind the temporary counter to fill two cups with soda. Behind him, Bittle was talking to two men who seemed to not know what personal space was. He was laughing loudly, hand pressed against his chest in a mockery of appall  while one of the men recounted the story behind a particularly intricate tattoo. If Jack was reading the situation right (and he had already convinced himself that he was), Bitty seemed to be standing a breath away, hovering just far enough that the man could lean forward and take Eric’s mouth with his own.

The woman behind the bar set his drinks down, and Jack picked them up, willing himself not to crush them in his death grip. He had a faint idea why he felt so angry, but he did his best to bury the thought in the dark recesses of his mind. He didn’t have _time_ to be jealous; they had a job to do. Not that he was jealous, of course. Why would he ever be jealous of some no-name punk with stupid tattoos talking to Bitty?

So, since he had decided that he wasn’t at _all_ jealous, his only course of action was clearly to shove a cup into Bittle’s hand and proceed to kiss him in front of the two surprised men.

It wasn’t soft and sweet like had imagined their first kiss to be, instead full of teeth and awkward nose placements, but Jack could feel Bitty relax into the kiss after his initial shock. The two men seemed to get the message and awkwardly turned to leave as quickly as possible.

Finally, Eric pushed him away, panting. “What the hell was that?”

“They looked suspicious. I was just, um, looking after you.”

Bitty studied him for a long minute before he huffed out a breath. “Yeah, I s’pose we should lie low here. Can’t let anyone get too good a look at us. Harder to disappear.”

“Right,” Jack agreed before adding, “I want to look around a bit before we grab the Cup and get out of here. Maybe we can find an easier way out than the front door, eh?”

Nodding, Bitty grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the empty hallway. Under some unspoken rule, most of the party-goers stuck to the main rooms of the house, but Jack guessed that there would probably be a smattering of guests doing off-color things in the quieter wings of the house. Hooking up might even work out to be a handy alibi if they were to get caught.

They passed a few couples making out in the hallway, but most of them were too preoccupied to notice Bittle and Jack peek into several rooms. In one room, Jack noticed a rack of guns on the wall. He slipped past the door, leaving Bitty out in the hall.

When he approached the rack, he let out a small gasp. These weren’t just any guns; they were old Revolutionary relics. Jack had always wanted one for his collection since he was a little boy but never managed to find one in useable condition. Sure, they weren’t as accurate as the rifle he currently used to snipe, but they were _historic_ , and Jack loved history almost as much as he loved Bit- as much as he loved his rifle, Cellie.

He froze at that first thought. _What the fuck, Jack?_ He let himself briefly flail at the idea before pushing it back with the earlier jealousy. Wait. _Where was Bittle?_

He stepped back out into the hallway only to see four men, one of whom was holding Eric’s limp body and smiling.

“Welcome to Chicago, Jack Zimmermann.”

* * *

Jack really wished that Bittle would wake up. They were in some kind of holding cell and given the vibrations rattling his bones, he’d guess they were on a plane again. For once, Jack really hoped he was wrong.

Bittle’s breaths were slow but they kept coming. Jack was reminded of his vigil at Eric’s bedside just a couple days ago and was suddenly realized just how angry he was.

Given their captors’ crimson bandanas, his best guess was that this was the work of Harvard. He desperately searched his mind for an explanation, something to tell him how they’d known where to find them, but came up empty-handed.

Beside him, Bitty groaned in his sleep, followed by a mumble that sounded eerily similar to Jack’s name. Jack couldn’t reach out to stroke his hair like he had after the Kingpin accident due to the ropes binding his wrists, but he was able to wriggle his way closer and rest his head on Bittle’s chest. Bitty sighed and shifted against his own bonds but didn’t wake. Jack soon slipped back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Bitty came to with a start, instantly tugging at the ropes binding his wrists to the chair.

“What the _f-_ ”

“Bittle,” Jack’s quiet voice came from his left. “It’s okay, just stay quiet. Don’t tell them anything. I’ve got your back, eh?”

Biting his lip, Bitty nodded before slumping back in his chair.

“Glad to see you sneaky motherfuckers are awake,” a large man said as he entered through the door. “We’ve got some things to talk about.” His smile was cruel, too wide and all sharp points.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” spat Jack.

“Well, of course. But there is the fact that you have our Kingpin still, and that just won’t do. Will it, sweetheart?” He put a finger under Eric’s chin and tilted so Bitty was glaring up at him. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt here, do we?”

Immediately, Bitty’s heart was in his throat. He thought he had gotten so much better about the fighting and fainting thing, but apparently intimidation and whatever may follow – he couldn’t bear to think the word _torture_ – were a completely different matter.

Honestly, Eric was pretty sure there had been a wolf in the room with the fierce growling that answered. He glanced over at Jack, eyes wide with fear.

“You. Will. _Not_. Lay another hand on him. Do you hear me?”

“Oh, my dear Jack! How could I pass up this opportunity? After so, so long, we’ve finally found a way to get under your skin! Now, tell me, Zimmster, what’s your precious boyfriend’s name?”

“Oh, we’re n-”

“It’s Eric _Boynton_. We’ve been dating for three years, and we were on vacation to Chicago.” Jack’s voice is flat and cold.

“Ah ah ah,” Harvard Man chided. “I helped come up with Eric’s cover name. Who do you think planted the invitation? Give me the real thing.” With his gaze set straight on Jack, Harvard Man picked up a hammer and a nail. “Give me his name, and then we talk about a trade for our leader.”

Jack’s growling picked up as he frantically looked between the nail and Bitty. Eric was shaking, doing all he could to stay alert and as far from the nail as possible. Their captor lined the nail up against the back of Bitty’s left hand, carefully avoiding the bones and nerves. Bitty wondered if maybe this was something the man had done before but quickly realized that he didn’t really want to know. Just the thought of what was to come left Bitty panicking, breaths now coming rapidly despite the weight  of his chest.

A hammer rose in the air, and soon all Eric could hear was Jack’s screaming – or his own? or maybe both? – and the man laughing. The edges of his vision grew dark as the excruciating pain seared through his hand and up his arm. He was filled with pain and fear, unable to even bring his other hand to claw the nail out of his flesh. He was only faintly aware of Jack’s frantic litany of _Eric_ as he succumbed to the darkness once more.


	10. Seven Devils All Around You

In the bedroom of the crew's private plane, Dex was laying on top of Nursey, idly tracing patterns onto his collarbone. He finally lifted his head to ask, “Where are they? Jack and Bitty should've met up with Lardo and Shitty by now.”

“Nice internal rhyme,” Nursey commented before sighing and adding, “You want to go tell Rans and Holtzy, yeah?”  
  
Will nodded and extracted himself from the bed. Derek got up with only minor grumbling and followed Dex out to the common area where the other two men were playing on their handheld consoles.    
  
“Hey, Dex is worried about the guys and Lardo.”  
  
The two men on the couch paused their game and turned around.  
  
“Well, it's just,” Dex tried before shaking his head. “The helicopter Nurse and I secured wasn't far from the party, and we haven't heard from Jack and Bitty in six hours. Something is up.”  
  
Ransom was on his feet in an instant, producing his chakrams from... _somewhere_? Dex didn't spend too long thinking about it. One of Holster's guns was poking out from the cushion where it had been "cleverly disguised." Nursey picked up an SMG in one hand and slung Bitty's around his shoulder.  
  
“Wait, where's Chowder?”  
  
All four guys looked at the bathroom where Chowder had just exited.  
  
Holster frowned. “Bro, you did _not_ just drop a deuce in there.”  
  
Ransom crossed his arms, leveling a glare at the smaller boy. “Tell me what Rule #5 is, Chow.”  
  
“Never poop in transport vehicles, especially airplanes,” he recited dutifully before adding, “But I really had to go! What was I supposed to do? We can’t leave the plane.”  
  
“Damn, Chow! I don't control your bowels. Figure it out! You owe five dollars to the Sin Bin when we get home, though. Don't think I'll forget!”  
  
Clearing his throat, Dex decided to kick their mission into motion. “In the meantime, someone call Lardo and Shits. See what we can figure out before jumping in with guns blazing.”

* * *

Lardo repositioned the pistol at the grunt's temple while Shitty pushed his forearm against the man's throat.  
  
“We're gonna try this again, okay?” Shitty grunted in warning before Lardo's icy voice continued. “Eric Boynton and Jacques Zacharies left with _whom_?”  
  
The man gasped for air, lips noiselessly forming words. Shitty released some of the pressure to allow him to speak. “They took them back to Cambridge or somethin'. I don't fuckin' know anything else, asshole.”  
  
“Only I can call him an asshole,” Lardo spat, pulling the trigger.  
  
“That was sweet and all, but now we've got a body to get rid of.”  
  
“Just leave him on the couch. Mark one more down to gang violence in Chicago.”  
  
Shitty hefted the body onto the couch and decided to put the television remote in his lifeless hand for extra flourish. Suddenly a tune filled the room.  
  
“Brah, is that the NHL theme song?”  
  
“I thought it fit the heist quite nicely.”

* * *

Ransom was sitting next to Holster but he may as well have been on the man's lap. The phone kept ringing and he silently cursed Lardo for not picking up as quickly as usual.  
  
“Does she not realize we're short a couple of oblivious morons? Who knows where they could be by now!” He punctuated his point by flailing his free hand around and almost smacking Holster in the face.  
  
Holster grabbed the offending hand and held it between his own, thumb rubbing small circles over the skin. “Bro, it's fine, she'll answer. She's probably off being a badass right now.”  
  
Finally, Lardo picked up. “Yo, 'sup?”  
  
“‘Yo, 'sup?’ Are you kidding me?!” he screeched. “Jack and Bits are missing! What do you mean ‘yo, 'sup?’”  
  
“They're in Cambridge. Guess Harvard took them by surprise. Cup's missing, too, so I wouldn't be shocked if they grabbed a souvenir along with our boys.”  
  
Ransom breathed a sigh of relief before tensing up again. “I'm guessing they're not on an all-expense-paid couple's retreat to Massachusetts?”  
  
“Right. Tell Nursey to get the engines going and contact the guys in the tower to get ready for takeoff. Shits and I will be there in ten.”  
  
“See ya, Lards.”  
  
The rest of the crew looked on with unmasked interest, only able to glean information from Ransom's side of the conversation. Chowder was bouncing in his seat, nervous energy radiating off him in thick sheets. Nursey looked like he was about three seconds away from telling him to chill, but Dex's hand on his thigh and stern face told him that this really wasn't the time.  
  
Ransom curled up further into Holster before speaking. “Nurse, better get to the helm and prepare for takeoff. Looks like Harvard took our boys away from us.”  
  
“ _Damn_ Harvard, back at it with the kidnapping.” Dex glared at Nursey for the overused meme but didn't press it. “Right, anyway, I'll go up front. Let me know if anything else happens, yeah?”  
  
They all nodded and Derek stood up and made his way to the cockpit. Dex followed after a brief moment, muttering something about copilots.  
  
When Shitty and Lardo finally arrived (“Eight minutes, Lardo! Record time!”), everyone buckled in and Nursey took off. They flew in tense silence as they contemplated what could possibly be happening to their friends. 

* * *

Jack could hardly look at Bitty anymore. Both his hands had nails in them and deep cuts littered his body. But Jack couldn't break, he told himself. If he gave this man Bitty's name, Eric would be in danger for the rest of his life. His _family_ would be in danger for the rest of _their_ lives. Jack wasn't going to be the one who got them all killed – he hoped.  
  
Looking over, he could see that Bittle wasn't quite awake, but he wasn't totally out either. He kept making these soft, pained pants that absolutely broke Jack's heart. If Jack had ever even imagined that he had a shot with Bittle, it was completely dashed now that he had gotten them captured and tortured.  
  
Jack scolded himself for the thought. Bitty was sitting ten feet away from him in unimaginable pain and here Jack was mourning the loss of a relationship that didn’t exist. _Get your head straight, Zimmermann._ He had simply come to the conclusion that he wouldn't open his mouth until he figured a way out of this mess. Surely Eric would understand and forgive him if he could at least manage an escape, right?  
  
Eric's voice was what brought Jack back to himself. “Thank ya, Jack.”  
  
Shocked, Jack couldn’t think of a way to reply besides “What?”  
  
“For not tellin' 'em and all that. Keeping m’family safe. Thanks,” Eric slurred.  
  
“Eric, they've been torturing you for hours! You look like shit! How can you possibly be thanking me?” Jack’s voice was breaking.  
  
“‘Cause… I love you… silly,” and with that, Bitty's head fell to the side as he slipped back under.  
  
Jack's world was spinning around him. Despite the ropes around his arms, his hands were shaking violently. He felt like his ribs were crushing inward, and his breath had nowhere to go. Bitty's name repeated again and again in his mind like a record scratching. _You failed him, he hates you, and he’s going to die_. It was too much blame, but Jack was convinced he deserved more. 

Jack was breathing too hard, the thoughts spiraling him into a panic attack- he was too consumed with guilt and fear to hear the distant explosion and subsequent gunfire. 

* * *

Holster whooped when he got a headshot on the man Ransom was fighting. Ransom frowned.  
  
“I was just about to kill him, Holz. Not fair.”  
  
“Just helping where I can, bro!”  
  
Lardo set another explosive on the next door. “In three, boys. Back up. One, two.” She triggered the charge and snickered when it went off. “Start looking in the rooms to find 'em.”  
  
Chowder swung around what was left of the doorframe, gun at the ready. Quickly downing several men, he ducked into the first unlocked door. “Nothing here!”  
  
Dex followed behind with Nursey at his side. They both checked the next four rooms and had similar reports.  
  
“They've gotta fucking be here,” Shitty pointed out. “This is Harvard's only warehouse in Cambridge.”  
  
“They'll be here,” Lardo assured him. “Bitty's cell phone is here, he will be, too.”  
  
Holster came to a locked door at the end of the corridor. “Lards, you got any more of those charges?”

* * *

When the explosion broke through the door, Jack finally registered it, but wasn’t able to pull out of his spiral. _Now they're just going to kill us. I failed Bitty. They didn’t get the information and now they’re going to kill Bitty_. He heard several bodies fall to the ground and was confused. Why was Harvard killing its own men?  
  
The second Shitty burst into the room through the charred frame, Jack started laughing. He honestly couldn't believe they'd come to save him. _They're here for Bitty_ , he thought. _You don't deserve to be saved. He hates you. They all hate you_. He tamped down his laughter upon seeing Shitty's confused expression.  
  
“You came,” he managed.  
  
“Like I would leave you motherfuckers to rot in here.” Shitty produced a knife from his belt and cut Jack's ropes before flipping it and handing it over.  
  
Immediately, Jack approached Bitty and sliced his bonds as well. He picked up the hammer from the table next to him and pried out the nails out as gently as he could. Ripping off his shirt, he tore it in strips and wrapped them carefully around Bitty's bleeding hands. Then he picked Eric up and cradled him tenderly in his arms. He almost started crying at how peaceful Bitty looked but settled for drawing his unconscious body in and holding him, breathing deeply.     
  
“Let's get out of here, brah,” suggested Shitty before he leaned out into the hallway. “Found 'em!”  
  
Surprisingly, no more resistance was encountered on their way out of the warehouse. In fact, most of the men had cleared out once they saw the wake of destruction Samwell was leaving- the gang hadn’t been fucking around about finding their boys.  
  
The trip back to their base passed excruciatingly slowly. The entire time, Jack whispered soothing words to Bitty, who had started shaking, and slowly rocked him back and forth. It was _his_ fault for getting Bitty into this, his fault that the rifles had distracted him and he'd left Bittle unattended. It was his fault. He bit back the tears and kept his eyes on Bitty's face, watching him breathe.


	11. I'm Constantly on the Cusp of Tryin' to Kiss You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holla holla at my ~~wife~~ beta [hyenlab](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/hyenalab) for kicking my butt in gear and making me write more.

After a bit of maneuvering, Jack picked Bitty up out of the car bridal style and went straight up to the penthouse and into his own room. His bed was bigger than Bittle's, and the chair next to it was definitely more comfortable to perform a night-long vigil. The anxiety that had wracked him before returned as soon as he pulled off Bitty's shirt to dress the wounds. He felt the guilt swell the moment he ducked out the doorway to fetch the first aid kit they kept in the bathroom.

When he returned, he tenderly cleaned all the cuts and punctures, placing butterfly bandages on the especially bad ones ( _there were too many_ ). He rewrapped Eric's hands, properly this time, holding them longer than necessary. Sighing, he put all the supplies back in the box and took a seat against the headboard next to Eric. He couldn't stand the thought of leaving him anymore, not after tonight, not after leaving him once already cost Bitty so much unnecessary pain.

He dozed a few times despite himself – the events of the last few days and worrying over Bitty had taken their toll. After he opened his eyes for the fourth time that night, Bitty had slung an arm loosely over Jack's waist and nuzzled his face into Jack's side. The tightness in the sniper's chest and throat was overwhelming, and he felt wetness prick at the corners of his eyes.

Eric Bittle had told him that he loved him. _Eric Bittle_ , a man too good for this world, had decided that Jack was somehow worthy of his affection. And he had announced it after being tortured for nothing more than his name. Jack was absolutely lost on how to respond, how to reconcile the desire in his veins with the crushing truth of their failed mission; he had known as soon as Bitty said the words that he wasn’t alone. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, he told himself. He was supposed to bury his feelings until Eric found someone better, someone _outside_ the gang life, someone to settle down with and marry and have two dogs and two-point-five children with. Eric Bittle had not been part of Jack's long-term plan. Jack knew he could never be the person Bitty needed him to be.

Pressure in his ribs reduced his breath into short, quick pants. He was having trouble breathing, trouble seeing, trouble thinking. He couldn't be the person Bitty needed him to be, but that didn't mean he couldn't try. If this is what Bitty wants, it's what Bitty will get. Because Bitty deserved _whatever_ he wanted, and wasn’t that the running theme? Everything Jack has done this far was what Bitty wanted: he trained Bitty when the boy wanted to join, he used Bitty's plans for heists, and he opened himself up because Bitty wanted to know who he was. He never really could say no to Eric Bittle.

With a shaking hand, he rubbed a small circle into Eric's arm, causing the smaller man to sigh and make some cute little noise that almost sounded like a purr. It was a fitting comparison when Jack actually thought about it. Bitty was the companionable kitten that kept him grounded, a small lump of fuzzy warmth with dangerously sharp claws. Beside him, Bitty was warm and soft, just as he had been the night before. Even in the dim room, he seemed to radiate light, angelic in every way Jack thought possible.

He thought it a bit strange to call Bitty angelic, though. He'd seen Bitty literally stab someone in the back, all attention focused on taking an enemy down. Eric was by no means a saint, but Jack figured that he was the one who helped Bittle become that way.

A phone vibration shook Jack from his thoughts. It seemed to be coming from Bittle, and with deft hands Jack located it and extracted it from Bitty's pocket. Without thinking, he answered it.

As he looked at the clock, he realized it was near four in the morning – who could be calling Bittle _now?_

“Salut?”

“Dicky?” a soft woman's voice asked.

“Um, no, this is Jack.” Jack could've punched himself for sounding so awkward.

“Oh! Hi, Jack! Dicky mentioned y'all were on a trip to Chicago. Is he alright?”

“He's, uh, sleeping.”

“Of course, it is still the middle of the night! I'm sorry for bothering y'all!” She sounded like she wasn't really _that_ sorry, but she wasn't immediately sharing why. It looked like Jack had to take matters into his own hands.

“Is there something I can help you with, Miss Bittle?”

“Please, call me Suzanne! And yes, I was wondering if you wouldn't give Dicky a message for me?”

“As soon as he wakes up, I promise,” Jack nearly crossed his heart for added emphasis but realized belatedly that she couldn't see him.

“Tell him that his father came back today. Said he was sorry and didn't realize how much he couldn't stand to lose Junior until he was gone. Tell… tell Eric that it's safe to come home, that we love him, that we'll find a way fix this. Can you please tell him that, Jack?”

Inside, Jack felt his anger flare up. Eric didn't deserve a yo-yo of a father; a man who couldn't make up his mind, and in a blind rage, threw out his only son. Momentarily, Jack considered hanging up on Mrs. Bittle, but his Canadian manners got in his way.

“Yes, Miss Bi- Suzanne, I can tell him that. Anything else?”

“Thank you for watching out for my son, Jack. I hope we can meet you sometime. Dicky tells us nothing but good things about you.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Now get some rest, and remember to tell Dicky exactly what I said. And that he's always welcome to call.”

“Yes ma'am,” he grimaced at the southern term that he must've learned via Bitty. “Uh, have a good night.”

“You too, honey.” And with a click, they ended the call.

Jack breathed out slowly and counted backwards from ten.

* * *

The next time Jack woke up, Bittle was already staring up at him with an expression Jack couldn’t quite place. His back was pretty sore from sleeping mostly sitting up, and his side was incredibly warm where Bitty was still wrapped around it. The second Eric considered their position, he quickly sat up, pushing his palms against the mattress and yelping in pain.

When he brought his hands up to examine them, the bandages were light red, the blood almost completely soaking through. Jack grimaced at the sight and leaned over to grab the first aid kid again. When he asked Bittle for his hands, Bitty initially refused.

“I can do it myself,” he adamantly stated. “It’s not the first time I’ve ever been hurt.”

Jack frowned deeply at his words. “I know you can, but I want to do it.”

Bitty considered Jack’s statement for a moment before sighing and shoving his hands in front of the sniper. “Just… be gentle? They really hurt.”

Jack had to stop himself from laughing at the statement. If Jack had anything to say about it, every interaction with Bitty would be gentle; from their lighthearted chirps and playful nudging to soft kisses and-

He stopped his movements along with his thoughts. That kind of thinking was _completely_ unacceptable, especially about a member of the crew, and doubly so about someone you almost got killed.

Bitty must have misinterpreted  his stillness because suddenly Jack’s hands were empty and Bittle was finishing wrapping himself up. Jack mentally kicked himself.

“Sorry, sorry. I just thought of something. Give me your hands back, eh?” Since Bittle was struggling to secure the bandages neatly, he shrugged and slid them back over. Jack, meanwhile, was struggling to subdue the overly-emotional thoughts he was having about the younger man. When Jack finished dressing Bitty’s wounds, he held Bitty’s hands between his own, carefully tracing Bitty’s knuckles with his thumbs. “You hungry?”

Bitty nodded. Then he looked back down at his hands. “I’d offer to cook for y’all, but I think I’m outta commission for a while?” The corner of his lips turned downward at the thought. “I could order us some pizza? Or maybe Chinese?” A curt shake of his head. “Right, no delivery to the base. I guess I could-”

“I’ll cook today. Maman taught me how to make grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. It’s not much, but it’s got protein.”

* * *

Bitty would admit that Jack could, in fact, make a mean grilled ham and cheese sandwich. The bread was perfectly crisp, the cheese deliciously gooey. What he _wouldn’t_ admit to were the obscene groans he made while eating the aforementioned sandwich. Look, the sandwich was good, alright?

When Bittle was done eating, Jack scooped him up and carried him back to bed.

“Jack! It's my hands that are hurt, not my legs!”

“You have to conserve all the strength you have. I'm just helping.” Jack grinned at him.

Bitty huffed out a laugh and let himself relax in Jack's arms. Jack walked back to his own room and carefully lowered him onto the bed. Eric looked down at his bloodied clothes and gasped.

“How could you let me be wearing these disgusting things? Ugh, I must reek!”

“I'll help you wash, come on.” Jack was suddenly looking anywhere but at Bitty. Before Bitty could protest, Jack lifted him off the bed again. When he into got to the bathroom, he finally let Eric stand on his own. “Take off your clothes,” he commanded.

Bitty reddened at the thought. “At least buy a man dinner first, Mr. Zimmermann!” Jack's shoulders bounced as he chuckled, but he made no amendments to his previous order. “Fine, but I'm keepin' on my underwear. This boy doesn't put out on the first date, y'know.”

Jack nodded, glad that Bitty was going along. He walked to the shower and began adjusting the temperature of the water. When it was to his satisfaction, he held out a hand to help Bitty into the basin.

The water was warm and stung at the many cuts that covered Bitty's skin. He hissed and then relaxed as the steam and heat took effect. His muscles had been tighter than he'd originally thought, and the shower helped loosen the knots. A low groan slipped through his lips, and he heard an intake of breath beside him. Jack's eyes were scanning up and down his body in a way that was more appreciative than protective. Suddenly, Bittle was far more self-conscious than before. He curled in on himself, bringing his arms up to cover his chest.

“I can't wash you if you do that,” Jack chided, barely audible over the thrum of the water. Instead of waiting for Bitty to unwrap himself, he stripped off his own pants and slid into the shower behind Eric. He grabbed the shampoo instead and started lathering up Bitty's hair.

Bitty would be lying if he said it didn't feel divine. Jack's fingers were strong and sure, massaging Bitty's scalp and making him feel more relaxed than he'd been in a long time. When Jack was done, he guided Bitty back into the downpour and rinsed the suds clean. Jack filled his palm with body wash before mentioning that the soap would probably hurt a little bit.

And it did. Bitty winced at the renewed stinging and the residual burning sensation. Still, Jack's hands were firm, and Bitty relished the feeling until a thought occurred to him. Cleaning his wounds and cooking, those were appreciated – and he realized Jack was probably feeling pretty guilty that Bitty had been hurt even though it wasn’t his fault, really. Jack was just like that, Bitty knew. But helping him shower – while still appreciated – was definitely a bit much no matter _how_ guilty he might be feeling. It would have been perfectly understandable to give Bitty some gloves and wish him luck, or even just bring him fresh clothes.

He turned gingerly to face Jack and asked, “Why are you doing this?”

“It's a normal part of showering. I thought everyone used soap?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I mean _this_ ,” he held out his hands, gesturing at, well, everything. “The dotin', the bathin'. Why?”

“I need to take care of you. It's the least I can do.”

The rush of water was loud in Bitty's ears, and he was finding it hard to think. “‘S not your fault, y'know? It wouldn't've happened if I'd been payin' attention to my surroundings. You gotta stop beatin' yourself up 'bout this, Jack.”

Jack's face was grim and unwavering. “You're my crew. I gotta have your back.”

Bitty had hoped, even for one second, that Jack had had different intentions, that this whole ordeal was part of Jack's misguided attempts at wooing Eric. He closed his eyes and sighed before turning back around and letting Jack finish washing the grime off his skin.

* * *

Eric was tucked back into Jack's bed, trying to sleep but unable to nod off again. Something was missing, and it left him unsettled.

“Hey, Jack?” he timidly asked.

Jack glanced over and cocked an eyebrow to let him know he was listening.

“D'ya think you could do something for me and not tell anyone?”

“Anything.”

Jack's prompt answer almost made Eric blush, but he steeled himself to finish his request. “Could'ya go into my room and get what's under my pillow? I need it to sleep.”

As a gangster, Jack would probably assume it was a weapon of some sort. He would be sorely disappointed, Bitty thought.

With a nod, Jack left the room. Bitty let the air rush out of his lungs. Jack quickly returned with Señor Bunny carefully cradled in his hands.

“Lapin?”

“Uh, Señor Bunny, he's basically all I have from home.” Bitty was _definitely_ blushing now.

“Ah, bah oui. _Monsieur_ Lapin, then.” Jack corrected himself and handed over the rabbit. Bitty was so relieved he could've cried. “Hold on,” Jack said, going and rummaging through his dresser. Bitty heard the sound of scissors and wondered what the hell Jack was doing. When the Canadian turned around, he was holding a strip of the crew bandana, a bright red band of cotton against his pale skin. He closed the gap to the bed and tied the fabric around Señor Bunny's head. “Welcome to the crew, Monsieur.”


	12. Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shitty makes good on a promise

Jack finally told Bitty about the phone call the next morning. They were both actively avoiding mentioning the way their legs were tangled together and Bitty’s arm wrapped over Jack’s chest.

“Bittle?”

Bitty’s muttered answer was lost in Jack’s collarbone. Jack took that as a sign to continue.

“I spoke to your mom.”

Bitty's hand tightened in the side of Jack's shirt. “What.” It wasn't a question, not really, instead ground through clenched teeth. “ _When_?”

Jack scratched the back of his neck. “You were asleep so I answered your phone. I'm sorry.”

Bitty's hand relaxed but stayed where it was. “What'd she want?”

“She told me to give you a message. Coach came home, uh, realized he was wrong. She said it's safe for you again. Wants to make things right? They still love you, you know?”

“Yeah, sure feels like it.” A bitter huff. “They really think I'm gonna just up and move my life again? For what? A couple of sorry’s and a shaky promise that s’alright?”

Jack put a finger under Bitty's chin and gently lifted his head to make eye contact. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Bittle. I've got your back. I mean it.”

Bitty just flushed and buried his head back into Jack's chest.

After another nap in which Jack finally lay down properly to soothe his back, the two rejoined the crew.

Shitty leveled a stern gaze at Jack and mouthed, “We need to talk.”

Nursey and Dex were strewn across the love seat while Ransom and Holster were trying to one-up each other in Rock Band. It was noisy, but it felt like home.

Jack was pulled to the side quickly, uneasy about leaving Bittle alone. His worries were calmed by the way Holster wrapped his arm around Bitty's waist and pulled him onto the couch, Bitty laughing the whole time.

Shitty squared his shoulders and held out an accusatory finger. “You,” he growled. “You did exactly what I told you not to do.”

At first, Jack had no idea what Shitty was talking about. After he remembered their pre-Chicago talk though, he wondered how Shitty knew about the various kisses, especially at the party. “I didn't, uh, mean to, it just sorta, um, happened.”

“It just happened?! Jack, he coulda fucking _died_ , brah.”

Jack froze. “Wait, what? How could that possibly kill someone? I mean, I know you said, um, not to do anything that he didn't want but, uh, I was worried that he-”

Suddenly, realization dawned in Shitty’s eyes before he clenched his fists again, seeming angrier than before. “I was talking about letting Bits get so goddamn hurt. You were supposed to be looking out for him! What the fuck were you talking about?”

“It was for his protection.”

“Shit, Zimmermann. I'm no lawyer but that sounds like a pretty awful defense.”

“He kissed me back.”

Shitty just nodded, eyes gleaming maniacally. “Strap yourself in because you are in for a wild fucking ride. I told you you’d pay if anything happened to Bitty, brah. Rules are rules.”

Jack had a feeling things were going to get worse.

* * *

The first phase of retribution came in the form of glitter. To be precise, Shitty hid glitter in Jack's neatly folded clothes. When the sniper went rummaging through the drawers, he unleashed a tidal wave of the annoying flecks all over his room. Bitty came back from the bathroom to Jack standing in the middle of the rug with an exasperated expression, shimmering like a disco ball. He immediately doubled over in laughter, desperately trying to ask Jack what happened.

Jack narrowed his eyes and ground out, “ _Shitty_ ” as if that explained everything.

(It did.)

* * *

Phase two took place in the kitchen despite Bitty’s complaints. Jack had missed out on the crew dinner due to his excessive need to be better. He’d been working out for a solid two hours when he finally made his way to the fridge to hopefully scrounge up something to eat. He emerged with chicken salad and an apple. Biting into the apple, he turned to the silverware drawer and blindly reached for where the forks should be, only to come up with a knife. He did a double-take at the offending cutlery and looked back towards the drawer accusingly. All of the slots had been filled with mismatching knives.

Bitty only felt a little guilty when he later saw Jack sitting alone on the tiled floor, muttering “Shitty,” over and over while eating chicken salad with his hands.

(But not guilty enough to give him a fork because honestly Shitty fucking scared him sometimes.)

* * *

Jack was looking through the news online when he received a ping through his instant messenger. Holster’s name was above a frantic message only reading, “Shit bro have u seen this? They kno insider info ‘bout the crew!” It wasn’t like Holster to send him stuff like this, but it sounded pretty important, especially if the d-man seemed worried about it. The link was to a site called bit.ly which Jack hadn’t heard of, but he figured that he didn’t have much experience with the whole internet world anyway.

It took a moment to load, but it suddenly redirected to a vaguely familiar man with awkward dance moves singing about not being strangers to love. Jack sighed and put his head in his hands, whispering, “Shitty.”

(And he’d never tell anyone, but he had to ask Shitty why everyone groaned when a certain YouTube video popped up. Apparently “Rick Rolling” was a thing the kids are doing these days, or something like that.)

* * *

Jack was learning how to avoid most of Shitty’s elaborate schemes, and he’d mostly forgotten about it after Shitty had declared a truce. Honestly, he saw no reason to keep looking over his shoulder when that’s what he did nearly every other day of his life. Still, he didn’t expect that Shitty might pull the rug out from under his feet so soon after a ceasefire was declared, and he especially didn’t expect him to do it in conjunction with a job.

After a lot of angst-filled pacing, Jack finally decided to take a job. A simple hit, two corrupt politicians who were supposed to be meeting today. It had been so elementary, the sniper almost laughed as he lined up the shot. The two men were seated at a table outside a fancy coffee shop, neatly in line from Jack’s vantage point. One shot would be enough, then he could lie low and collect the pay.

It went perfectly, no second shot required. Jack nearly patted himself on the back until he remembered the guilt that nearly swallowed him whole every chance it had. He climbed down the ladder, returning to solid ground once more. Bittle flooded his thoughts, looping those beautiful three words over and over.

So to say Jack was a little distracted when he got into the car with Shitty would be a gross understatement. Shitty made idle chitchat until they pulled up outside their apartment building.

“You go on in,” Shitty offered, giving Jack a onceover and deciding he wasn’t in his peak form. “I’ll park the car and meet you inside.”

Jack sighed and nodded, getting out of the car and shouldering his rifle. He wanted nothing more than to take a shower, clean his gun, and talk to Bittle. Thinking about Bitty sent him into another tizzy that may have caused him to forcefully slam his palm into the elevator button a couple dozen more times than was strictly necessary.

Shitty finally came up about ten minutes later. Jack was in too much of a funk to even ask what took him so long.

About an hour later, after a shower and a chat with Eric, Jack remembered that he never cashed in the hit. Instead of bothering Shitty, though, he decided he’d just take the car himself. It was only about a five minute drive and traffic shouldn’t be too bad, nothing that Jack couldn’t handle.

When he entered the parking garage, the car wasn’t in its reserved spot. Jack whirled around, hand flying to his pocket to tell someone the car had been stolen. When he turned, though, he spotted the car, parked along a wall. He immediately relaxed, until he noticed exactly where the car was parked.

A bright yellow concrete post was nearly touching the bumper, steadfast and, frankly, immoveable. Pressed against the front bumper was a decrepit dumpster. That car was not going anywhere anytime soon.

Jack just hung his head and groaned, “Shitty…” before deciding that today was a good day for a walk.

(Nothing made Jack more paranoid than walking through downtown Boston with thousands of dollars in a duffel bag, but like hell he was going to get that car out from where it was wedged. Jack mentally took back all the negative things he’s ever said about Shitty’s driving because honestly, he was kind of impressed.)

* * *

After the incident with the vehicle, Jack was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Shit falls apart around Jack. It just does. It’s like a fact of life: the grass is green, the sky is blue, and things always go wrong. So Jack waited for Shitty to finally get his fifth punishment in.

Bitty was coming home from the store, reusable bags hanging from Chowder’s arms – he’d agreed to help in exchange for an extra slice of pie at dinner, since Bitty still couldn’t do much. Bitty decided to stop by the mailroom in case anyone had ordered something online. It was one of the few ways they were allowed deliveries, since it didn’t actually require their apartment number, just the street address. It wasn’t the safest of ideas, but that had never stopped Holster from buying nearly every 30 Rock themed item ever.

There was a pile of junk mail waiting which Bitty clumsily put into the trash. The box sitting on the counter with Jack’s name on it caught his attention, though. He reverently traced his finger over the label – no return address – and then picked it up, marveling at how light it was.

Stepping on to the elevator and carefully inserting his keycard, Bittle tucked the package under his arm so he could have his hands free. Hopefully it wasn’t food or else it probably would’ve been destroyed in transit – their mail carrier didn’t seem to understand the word _fragile_. The elevator dinged and Bitty entered the suite. Everyone was sitting around in the living room but Jack. Bitty arched an eyebrow while looking around.

“Working out again. He’s gone into sniper ‘bot mode,” Ransom said, head peaking up over the cushions of the couch. “Better shake him out of it, Bits.”

Bitty motioned for Chowder to set the groceries down and tucked the package more firmly under his arm. The weight room was empty and no one was on the treadmill. He decided to check Jack’s room, as there weren’t many other places in the penthouse to look. The door was open and Jack was doing sit-ups on the floor, sweat gathering along his hairline. Bitty nearly had to pinch himself to stop staring.

“Hi Jack! There’s a package for you. I thought you said no deliveries?”

Jack paused his exercise and looked behind him at the blond. “I didn’t order anything, Bittle.”

“Well, it’s addressed to you, so I kinda figured you ordered something? You could at least open it to see what it is!”

Shrugging, Jack pushed himself off the floor and held his hands out for the box. He picked up a knife off the corner of his desk and sliced open the tape. Nothing could have prepared either of them for what was waiting inside the box.

* * *

Jack’s eyes and nose immediately burned, his mouth watering in a painful way. He looked at the box, empty tear gas canister sitting inside, and to Bittle, who was wheezing and pawing at his chest desperately. Struggling to breathe, Jack nearly panicked; once again Bitty was suffering as a direct result of something the sniper did.

But unlike last time, this was something Jack could fix. He threw the box on the ground and ran to his dresser where he kept an assortment of crew bandanas. He’d always liked the idea of one piece of unifying clothing – like a uniform of sorts, he thought – and kept a lot on hand, just in case. He grabbed enough for the crew, snagged Bitty by the wrist, and ran into the kitchen. The tear gas hadn’t spread through the entire suite yet, so they had time. He opened the fridge and pulled out the bottle of lemon juice. He proceeded to soak the bandanas in the citrus before tying one around Bitty’s head, covering his nose and mouth.

“It’ll help for a couple of minutes. Give these to the boys and tell them to pack. We’ve gotta go.”

Bitty nodded, taking the dripping bandanas and heading to the living room. Meanwhile, Jack raced back to his room, packing several days’ worth of clothing. He grabbed every bottle of saline in the bathroom, knowing they’d have to rinse out their eyes for a while after this. After he finished packing his own bag, he crossed the hall into Eric’s room. He repeated the process of packing, making sure to grab a phone charger and Senor Bunny before heading to the living room. The tear gas had spread by now, and he could hear the sounds of his crew members struggling to breathe.

“Let’s go! Everyone out!” Jack yelled as he called the elevator. The other members filed in once it came. Jack handed Bittle’s bag over before swinging his own over his shoulder.

* * *

They congregated at Jack’s car, now safely parked in its rightful place.

“I’ll call someone to take care of the apartment,” Lardo said, already scrolling through her phone to find some contact. “In the meantime, it’s clear we’ve been targeted. We need to get out of town, and fast.”

Everyone murmured in agreement but no one really wanted to step forward with an idea.

Holster finally spoke up. “Ransom and I could go to New York to stay with my family. Unfortunately with my sisters at home, there isn’t much room for everyone else.”

“Nurse, Chowder, and I will head to Maine, but I can’t offer room to anyone else,” added Dex.

“And Shitty and I will lay low in town. Someone’s gotta stay around to take care of things, and we’ve got enough connections here to stay safe.” Lardo was typing away to god-knows-who but didn’t seem to mind when Shitty threw his arm around her shoulders.

Jack leaned in to Bitty to mutter in his ear. “You could go to Georgia but I won’t let you go alone. Your mother said it’s safe there now.”

Bitty stayed silent for a while before nodding reluctantly. “Jack ‘n I’ll go to Georgia. Shouldn’t be too bad.”

Everyone shared one last look before calling cabs and buying plane tickets on their phones. Shitty had been right: this was going to be a wild fucking ride.


	13. My Words Can Come out As a Pistol and I'm No Good at Aiming (But I Can Aim It at You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO sorry i was [graduating](http://www.trbimg.com/img-57643dc2/turbine/chi-nu-grad-stands-ct0039204236-20160617/1000/1000x563) this past weekend #NU2016 what team wildcats and all that
> 
> enjoy
> 
> as always, huge thanks to ~~my wife~~ [hyenalab](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/hyenalab) for being the best beta around.

Bitty had swiftly come to the conclusion that the attack was meant for the crew and not just Jack; a tear gas canister is less of a “Dear Sir or Madam” and more of a “To Whomever It May Concern.” He doesn't know if this conclusion makes him feel better or worse. Probably worse. Because as much as Jack apologized, it was as much Bitty’s fault; he had brought the package inside despite Jack clearly telling him _no deliveries_. Plus, Bitty was the one who’d been caught off guard, back at the heist; he hadn’t even seen them coming. Not that it would've been too hard to sneak up on him just then: he'd been standing outside the room Jack had disappeared into with his eyes squeezed shut, desperately repeating _He didn't kiss me_ over and over in his head.

It’s not like he could tell Jack that, though. He’d probably just blame himself more anyway.

What he wanted to tell Jack was that this isn’t how he pictured it. He didn’t know exactly what _it_ was, but it certainly wasn’t _this_ ; fleeing from a Boston gang with a man he seriously loved, barely able to use his hands (never mind defend himself). It _wasn’t_ hurtling hundreds of miles an hour towards his childhood home, the one place that was always supposed to be a safe haven but which never quite fit the bill. He’s not necessarily looking forward to seeing his parents again, he admits to himself; they treated him pretty badly (Mama had tried, but she didn’t stop Coach from throwing him out, and she wasn’t there for the man in the bathroom at the bar. Or for any of the men afterwards). He had no reason to believe they’d be any kinder to Jack, all things considered. And oh, wasn’t that going to be interesting, because Jack was pretty obviously unhappy about how Coach had treated him and what happened after, and he hadn’t even met them in person yet.

He froze when he realized the other implication of this situation: Bitty was taking Jack home to meet his parents. And they weren’t even technically dating.

He turned to glance at Jack, who was idly thumbing through an _American Way_ magazine and somehow appearing to enjoy it. Jack had become extremely protective, even more so than he had been just after the concussion; he’d taken to not letting Bitty out of his reach at all, literally throwing his arm around Bitty’s shoulder and keeping it there through the whole flight. Bitty was squished between the reassuring weight of Jack’s arm and his solid side. The warmth had spread through Bitty like a forest fire, and he had to do something before he lost his nerve. He couldn’t face down his parents while still figuring out what all this was – especially since Jack had been pretty clear that he was looking after Bitty because he felt bad he had been injured. _That’s all it is,_ Eric chided himself, _nothing else. Just concern for a teammate._

_Extremely doting and intimate concern._

“We don’t have to pretend we’re dating, y’know?”

Jack recoiled, drawing his arm away. Before he could fully escape though, Bitty fumbled for his wrist and put it back in place around his shoulders. Jack clarified, “I, uh, didn’t think you minded?”

“No, I don’t mind. I thought it was nice.”

Jack nodded once, then went back to reading the magazine. Bitty tried again.

“You don’t need to come to Georgia with me. I can protect m’family and m’self.”

Jack stiffened, not meeting Eric’s eyes. “Did you, uh, not want me to? I can see if I could get out of the country and go ba-”

“No! No!” Bitty’s outburst caused a few passengers to turn towards him. He sheepishly waved and returned his voice to a hushed whisper. “No, I didn’t mean that. I just meant that if you have some misplaced guilt that’s making you do this, you don’t have to. I was there and just as involved in the whole train wreck. I know you’d rather be back with Shitty and Lardo.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jack immediately countered. “I want to be here with you.”

“So you can protect me? You’ve thought I was weak since the first time we me, but I’m not a little kid!” Bitty hissed; he was shaking, trying not to let his face show how hurt he was.

Jack shook his head. “I know that, Bittle. Yes, I want to protect you, but not because I have to.”

“Then why? What reason couldja possibly have swimmin’ around up in that head of yours that you aren’t willin’ to share?”

Jack paused for a second, seemingly choosing his words. Bitty was still trembling with pent up frustration, so when Jack leaned down and kissed him, it took his breath away.

This kiss was so much better than the kiss at the party. Sure, their noses still bumped together and the height difference was more of a hindrance than anything, but Jack’s lips were comfortably chapped and fit against Bitty’s like they were made to be there.

When Bitty pulled back to breathe, he looked up at Jack through his eyelashes and smiled.

“Yeah, I guess I could see how that makes sense.”

* * *

With traffic, it took about two hours to get to the Bittles’. Bitty had forced Jack to contribute to laying out their relationship. Jack’s hand had gripped the steering wheel tightly when Bitty admitted that he'd been flirting with the guys at the party to get Jack's attention, but Eric rubbed soft circles into the top of Jack’s free hand to placate him.

Now Jack was gently cradling Bitty’s hand in his own, mindful of the bandages, trying to quell the shaking anxiety that threatened to rattle his bones.

Bitty looked equally shaken, but he offered a quiet, “S’just my parents!” to which Jack’s only response was a glare. “Right. We’ve been boyfriends,” he paused, word feeling foreign on his tongue, “for all of three hours.” Jack huffed in return. “Just show ‘em that Zimmermann charm! Only please use the ‘I’m an upstandin’ individual’ kind, not the ‘I’m gonna stab you when your back is turned’ kind.”

Jack sighed. “We’re not upstanding, Bits. We kill people for a living. Also, I don’t stab people, that’s your thing.”

“We’re not bad people, we just do bad things,” Bitty stated, trying not to make it sound like the mantra he’d been living on since their Yale heist.

“You’ve been talking to Shitty, too, eh?” Jack grinned. “You know, he told me the same thing a few years ago. Pretty sure he could become a damn good therapist if he ever managed to pass the background check.”

Bitty was just about to come up with a witty response when the door swung open.

“Welcome home, Dickey!” His mother ran to him, scooping him up in a rib-crushing hug. “Oh, I’m _so_ glad that you’re home! I’ve missed you somethin’ awful!”

Bitty untangled himself from his mother’s arms in time to see Coach coming out of the house as well.

“Mama, Coach, this is my-” Eric eyed Coach warily, “this is Jack Zimmermann.”

The look on Coach’s face was nothing short of furious. Bitty braced himself for the worst.

“Are you the one who did this to my son?” Coach snarled, standing toe-to-toe with Jack, trying to draw himself up taller. He didn’t even reach Jack’s nose, but he did look impressively menacing. He was gesturing towards the cuts that covered Bitty’s exposed skin and the bandages still wrapped around his hands.

Jack squared his shoulders up and took a deep breath. Bitty could see the muscles in his jaw flexing as he snapped, “I would _never_ do anything to harm him. I actually know how to treat Eric properly.”

Coach’s shoulders sank and he stepped backwards, suddenly subdued. “I guess I deserve that. Why don’t y’all come inside? We have a lot to talk about.”

* * *

Bitty didn’t realize just how nervous he was to see his parents until he was situated next to Jack on the loveseat. They weren’t touching, but it was apparent that they wanted to be. Now that Bitty had permission, he wanted nothing more than to run his hands down Jack’s muscular arms and across his ridiculous abs. His mother cleared her throat nervously, startling him from his thoughts.

“So Dickey, how have you been?”

“Against all odds, I've been great,” Bitty said, keeping his voice level despite how he felt. He bit back the _no thanks to y’all_ but figured it was still implied.

“Tell us about that job, son,” Coach prompted.

“Like I told Mama, 's been a lot of odd jobs. Jack’s been helpin’ me a lot through the transition, so honestly I owe it all to him for how good I've gotten. We make a good team.” Eric looked up at Jack with a shy smile when he felt a gentle bump against his shoulder. Jack had the softest eyes, all full of affection and what Bitty thought might be pride.

“What kind of jobs, sweetie?” his mom asked, clearly not satisfied with his vague answers. She paused for a moment before a look of realization dawned on her face. “Is that where all your injuries came from?”

Bitty stiffened, risking an uneasy glance back to Jack. “Uh, yeah, I suppose so,” he replied, ignoring the first part of the question.

“Now what kind of job would give you all those cuts?” Coach’s eyes were narrowed, honing in on Jack again.

Jack stepped in. “It’s a really physical job, lots of dangerous people. But we’ve kept an eye on Eric. We’ve just had a couple of… accidents in the past few weeks.”

“Like fallin’ down the stairs?” Mama implored.

“Like falling down the stairs,” echoed Jack.

Bitty shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't handle lying to his parents like this, couldn't reconcile his guilt with his safety. As much as he feared for his parents if they were to get involved, he couldn't stand not being honest. He took Jack’s hand in his own and inhaled deeply.

“Mama, I’m in a gang. Samwell. I’m in a gang called Samwell.”

Jack froze but quickly recovered, eyes carefully trained on Bitty’s parents for any sign of discord. He was only met with unmoving faces. After a minute, Coach broke the silence.

“This is my fault, Suzanne. I let this happen.”

Bitty scoffed. “I mean, you're not wrong.” His face was twisted into a scowl but relaxed back into the soft smile from before when he turned back to Jack. “But I’m happy now. I’m really, really happy.”

“You’re a criminal,” Coach (unnecessarily) pointed out.        

“And you kicked your son out of his home. I don't think you really have the moral high ground you think you do, sir,” countered Jack. Coach opened his mouth and closed it again.

“So all the other boys? Chowder? Mr. Crappy?” his mom asked, clearly concerned that the boys she’d been hearing about for the past few weeks were actually taking part in illegal activities.

“Yes, mama. Even Shitty. But he's more of a logistics guy,” Bitty reassures.

“How many people have you killed, son? Either of you, how many?” Coach’s voice has hints of accusation, the same dangerous edge that Bitty remembered from the night he got kicked out.

Jack clenched his jaw before shooting right back, “How many children have you disowned?”

“Now that's hardly the same!” Bitty cowered as Coach raised his voice and stood. Jack rose to meet him.

“You did nothing more than leave your son for dead. You're no better a man than I am. I don't care what you tell yourself at night, but _I_ sleep soundly knowing I did _everything_ I could to protect my crew. To protect Bitty.” Jack remained steadfast until Coach stepped down. Jack returned to the couch and held a hand out for Bitty. “We’re going to unpack. We’ll be back once you two have become adjusted to the idea. Come on, Bits, you promised to show me the lake.”

“It’s too cold to go swimming!”

“I’m _Canadian._ There’s no snow yet, so it’s perfect for swimming.”

The young couple left Suzanne and Coach speechless in the living room, hoping things would go more smoothly when they returned.

* * *

As soon as Bittle’s door closed, Jack slumped back against it. He offered a weary apology before enveloping Bitty into a hug. He buried his face into the puff of hair, inhaling deeply. “I'm so sorry, Eric,” he repeated.  “I shouldn't have acted like that to your father. And he’s right, I shouldn't have helped bring you into this kind of life. You deserve better.”

“Jack,” Bitty began before deciding that he'd rather do this face to face. He wiggled out of Jack’s hold and angled his face up to the man. “I don't give a damn what you think I deserve. I meant what I said: I’m so _unbelievably_ happy. I’ve learned a lot and grown a lot. I love my life, I love the crew, I love y-” He stopped before he could say anything else. “Oh Lord, I didn't mean to- I’m sorry-” He buried his face in his arms and started to turn away when Jack grabbed his arm.

“No, Bits, look. I mean, I love you, too, eh? I know it hasn't been long, but with the lives we lead, we don't- uh- time isn't necessarily always on our side. I’m sorry if I ever made you think otherwise.” Jack finished lamely, turning Bitty’s hand over in his.

Bitty lunged forward and threw his arms around Jack’s neck. “Thank you! Thank you!” Bitty felt joy rise up in his chest, nearly overwhelming him. He wanted to cry, but he figured that would just get in the way of kissing. Kissing Jack Zimmermann. _His_ Jack. Bitty smiled and leaned up, pressing his lips into Jack’s knowing full well that he was allowed to.


	14. Let's Get Down to Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo i'm so sorry about the delay, y'all. i got my wisdom teeth horrifically stolen and my beta [hyenalab](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/hyenalab) is goin' through some shit so we took a while to get our act together. thanks for your patience!! ♥

Bitty was walking with an apple turnover cradled in one hand and Jack’s hand in the other. “D’ya suppose it could ever be like this?”

“Fall? Yeah, it happens every year, Bits.” Jack tried to keep a straight face, but the corner of his mouth turned up.

“No, silly boy. Like this.” He motioned to the city around him, nearly empty and blissfully peaceful. “Could we ever live a normal life after everything we’ve done?”

“People leave gang life all the time,” Jack reassured him, shrugging.

Bitty snickered, “Yeah, in a body bag.”

“My parents did it,” Jack noted. “Surely we could do it too. Someday, we could get a house and some dogs; you could open a bakery and maybe I’d teach kids how to play hockey.” Bitty arched an eyebrow at him. “I used to play, you know? Before all of,” he vaguely motioned at himself, “this.”

“Coach Zimmermann. Hm, it’s got a nice ring to it.”

“Maybe it’ll be Coach Bittle. Little tired of my last name by now.”

Bitty flushed and squawked,  “Jack! We’ve been datin’ for a day.”

“Uh, right. Sorry.” He didn’t look at all sorry. “What about your bakery? You ever thought about it before?”

Bitty hummed in response before adding, “A Little Bit of Home.”

“Home? Here?” Jack sounded surprised. He’d thought Bitty would want to stay out of Georgia, considering everything that had happened to him.

“No, that’s what I want to name my bakery. If I ever get one.”

“We’ve got more than enough money to get you a bakery, Eric.”

Bitty nodded and took a bite of his turnover; the rest of this conversation could happen another day, time to change the topic. They still had to figure out a lot of things before bakeries could happen. Or seeing Jack with kids. “Want some?” He held the pastry out towards Jack.

“You should eat some more protein.” This time, the words didn’t sting like they first had, instead dripping with concern and a bit of lilting humor. They were clearly a jab at how he used to treat Bitty, but thankfully Jack wasn’t beating himself up about it – not as much, at least.

* * *

“Dickey, I want a picture of you two!” Mama Bittle was standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding her cellphone up.

Bitty shook his head, frowning. “Mama, we’re kinda on the run right now. Postin’ a picture of us here isn’t 'xactly safe!”

“I don’t know, _Dickey_ , I think one would be alright as long she didn’t post it.” Jack’s shit-eating grin got a laugh out of Bitty, who threw his arms around Jack and grinned up at the camera. Jack rested his chin on top of Bittle’s head, his own arms carefully draped around the smaller man. The camera clicked, and Jack sat back on the couch, arms not loosening their hold. “Send that one to me, Suzanne. I think I’d like it on my own phone.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t already have a million pictures of us, of me! I know you’re a budding photographer, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack pasted on a blank expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Bittle.” He almost made it to the end of the sentence without laughing, but Bitty’s fingers were dancing over his ribcage relentlessly. “Okay, okay! You’re right, eh? _Arrete le chatouillement,_ s’il t’plaît!”

Bitty stopped his attacks. “Fine, but only if you stick to English from now on.”

“What happened to those online French classes you were going to take?”

Bitty elbowed his side viciously.  “Hush, you! You weren’t even supposed to know about those!”

All the while, Mama Bittle watched the two boys on the couch. She was filled with a bright warmth to see her son find someone he’s so compatible with. Sure, she didn’t necessarily agree with their lifestyle – the gang life, not being gay, mind you – but she could see just how happy Eric was with Jack. She got an idea.

“Boys, Bitty  said y’all’re on the lam from another crew but ya still wanna take that silly ol’ Cup, right?” They both nodded. “Give me the details. I have an idea.”

* * *

After filling Suzanne in on most of the details (Jack tried to be vague about the exact process behind Bitty’s injuries), the sniper was scared and a little impressed. Mostly scared.

It turns out that Bitty didn’t get his planning skills from Coach’s football plays. His mother was fiercely protective of her son and perfectly willing to play dirty.

Shitty and Lardo were connected to them through facetime on Bitty’s phone, while Ransom, Holster, and the frogs were on a conference call with Jack.

“Harvard has likely left their base and set up somewhere else after the kingpin got taken, yes? And y’all cleared out their closest warehouse when you rescued Jack and Dickey.” Eric groaned and put his head on the table. “Which, thank y’all, by the way. Y’all have no idea how a mother’s heart worries.”

“Mama,” Bitty tried to interrupt, but was waved away with one of Suzanne’s neatly manicured hands.

“Not now, Dickey. I was thinkin’, what if it was Yale? They could be after y’all, too, since they seem like the types to hold a grudge. It would make sense why y’all couldn’t find the Cup with Harvard. If they worked together, Yale could get the Cup and Harvard would get the new kingpin along with the ultimate leverage. So is there some place they could’ve met? Maybe an old warehouse that changed hands or was between territories?”

Bitty could see Shitty stroking his mustache in thought. “Suzanne’s right. We haven’t heard from Yale in a while and Harvard certainly had fuck all. Pardon me, Mrs. Bittle. It’d be worth checking out?”

“Things look pretty safe up here. Apparently all it takes is three days and a shit ton of money to get a base cleaned out. No more attacks have come for us either.” Lardo was tapping away on her phone, seemingly trying to do two things at once.

Ransom spoke up from the line. “So it’s safe to come home?”

Holster immediately added, “We mean, like, _relatively_ safe or whatever. Bro, you know it’s never safe. That’s why we use condoms.” The sound of a high five rings across the line.

Mama Bittle cleared her throat. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“Uhhh, shit. I mean, sorry, fuck, sorry-”

“Holtz, quiet.” Jack’s face had a gentle smile that the other men couldn’t see.

“Yes, Jack, sir, right away, Mr. Z, Jay-Z, Jack Attack, Jacktacular Zed, JimmyJoJack-”

“No, I really mean it. Quiet.” By some miracle, Holster stopped and an awkward silence hung in the air.

Chowder broke it this time. “I think I can get into some security footage around Yale’s and Harvard’s bases? As long as it’s not too heavily encrypted, I should have something in a couple hours.”

“Good work, Chow,” Jack reassured. “Shitty, Lardo?”

Lardo looked up from her phone. “If Chowder can give us an area, we can start on setting up diversions. We’ll also restock all the ammo while we’re waiting. Celine has missed you, Jack.” She winked into the camera before turning back to her phone.

Jack froze, then turned to Bitty with clenched teeth. “Please, tell me that you did. Not. Give. Her. The name of my rifle.

Bitty cowered, giggling and partially terrified. “I just said it was named after a Canadian singer! It’s not my fault you named it after someone like Celine Dion!”

“Celine Dion is a national treasure! I cannot believe you right now, Bittle.” Lardo would never let him hear the end of that.

“Boys, we still have more ground to cover. Holster and Ransom, I’ve heard y’all make a great defense. I’m trusting you with my boy. He better not come back with any more holes in him.” Snickering from Ransom and Holster. “Not like that. Getch’er minds outta the gutter, fellas. Jack, I need you up top. Most warehouses on television have an upper level. Now I know TV ain’t real, but it’s all I’ve got. You better not let anything, I mean _anything_ happen to my boy. His hands are just barely healed enough to hold his gun, much less work a knife in hand-to-hand combat. I think you’ll find this task especially motivating, son.”

Bitty blushed and bumped his knee against Jack’s. On the table top, Jack laced his fingers through Bitty’s, softly laying on top of the healing skin.

“William, Derek?”

“Yes, ma’am!” they replied in unison.

“Take care of Chowder and get back to Boston as quickly as possible. I hear that’s your specialty.”

“I’ll come before you even know it!” Dex replied before stammering, “Wait, wait, I didn’t mean it like that. Ugh, fuck you, Nursey.”

“Only if you can last long enough, Poindexter,” was the teasing reply.

“We’ll see y’all back in Boston, ‘kay? Call us if you need anything.” Bitty hung up his phone and waited for Jack to do the same. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

* * *

Bitty thought he'd be used to flying with Jack by now, but it was still exhilarating to hold hands the duration of the flight. He dozed in and out, but every time he awoke, Jack’s kind eyes were trained on Bitty’s slack body and his words dripped the honey-sweet timbre he'd been hearing more recently.

“How'd you sleep, eh?”

Bitty sat up and popped his neck. “Woulda been better on a bed, I s’pose, but all together not horribly. Did you sleep at all?” He used what little strength he had in his injured hand to give Jack’s a squeeze.

“No. Someone has to stay alert; we’re technically still in the middle of a gang war.”

A warm smile spread across Bitty’s face before he leaned over and kissed Jack. “I can't believe,” another kiss, “I can finally,” another kiss, “do this.”

“Mmmm. Do you want the crew to know?”

Bitty flashed an impish grin. “How long do you think it would take ‘em to notice?”

“Hm, Shitty’s pretty perceptive about that kind of thing. I give it three days.”

“You have so much faith in them. I was thinkin’ five at least. They’re all too busy with each other to realize somethin’ about us is different.”

“You’re on.” They locked pinkies and sealed it with a kiss.

* * *

Bitty was nervous in the elevator up to the penthaus, but Jack’s quiet voice calmed him down some. Using the reflective walls, he checked to make sure his shirt was smoothed but also casually rumpled. He couldn’t look like he’d been making out with Jack in the back of the taxi – a statement he can neither confirm nor deny at this time – but if he was _too_ put together, it’d be obvious that they’d been making out in the back of the taxi – hypothetically, that is. The doors slid open as he glanced up at Jack, who nodded once and smiled.

When they stepped out, everyone was lounging around the living room. Lardo was braiding Shitty’s flow into two French braids and Ransom was curled up in Holster’s lap. Dex, Chowder, and Nursey seemed to have melted into one big pile on the floor.

Lardo looped a hair band around one of Shitty’s braided pigtails and looks up. She grinned at the sight of the two men in front of her and asked, “So, Jack. How as your vacation to Sweet Ol’ Georgia? Didja get to see the sights?”

Bitty’s eyes lit up as he giggled. “I showed him around but honestly I’m surprised this poor _Northerner_ didn’t melt in a warmer climate.”

Jack glanced down at Bittle with the softest eyes, his eyelids drooping slightly and corners of his mouth pulled up tight. Bitty felt his heart flutter in his chest, trying hard to school his answering smile into something that could only be seen as platonic.

All of a sudden, there was a huge blur of motion as Holster stood up and unceremoniously dumped Ransom onto the floor. He fist pumped several times before pointing at Bitty and Jack and yelling, “They’re finally boning!”

“No, no,” Shitty corrected, grinning. “They haven’t boned yet. That smile is too sappy and sexually frustrated to have boned yet.”

Bitty stood with his mouth agape, hands clutched gently to his chest. “Why I never! How dare you talk about a young man’s exploits?!”

Shitty took a flying leap at Jack, both men colliding with the floor. Beside them, Lardo and Bitty shared a silent fistbump.


	15. I'm your soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then I’ma rock your body, turn you over.  
> Love is war. I’m your soldier.  
> Touchin you like it’s our first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kent parson voice* didja miss me?
> 
> [the tumb](http://www.milesandcompany.tumblr.com/)   
>  [the gf/beta](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/hyenalab/)

Bitty sighed and nuzzled further into Jack’s back, earning a soft sound of contentment. It had been two weeks since they’d gotten back from Georgia; two weeks of planning, stocking up, and training. Looking at his left hand over his boyfriend’s shoulder, Bitty lightly rubbed his thumb over the scarred palm. The wounds had healed into shiny pink circles, slightly raised but still somehow smooth. Jack had helped take care of him so much, often showering with him and serving as a human pack mule, and it warmed Bitty’s heart in all the right ways.

For now, though, Jack was dozing while Bitty peppered his neck with kisses. He snuck his now bandage-free hand down to the sniper’s exposed hip and rubbed gentle circles around the protruding bone. Jack grumbled something before inhaling deeply and turning his head towards the blond.

“Bon matin, mon cœur.” The kiss Bitty received was gentle and warm, two words he never would’ve ascribed to Jack when they'd first met. Bitty smiled at how much had changed, how much he loved the Jack that only he got to see, the Jack that was soft around the edges and talked in his sleep, _his_ Jack.

“Mornin’, sugar,” Bitty mumbled, scattering a few more strategically placed smooches below Jack’s ear. “I think we’re the first ones up.”

The bed groaned slightly as Jack repositioned them to lay flat on his back with Bitty straddling him. “Mmm, I’m not ready to get _up_ just yet.”

“Oh?”

To emphasize his point, Jack grabbed onto Bitty’s waist and ground his hips upwards, cocking an eyebrow. Eric gasped in surprise but his eyes soon narrowed with mischievous intent.

“Mr. Zimmermann! Why I oughta…”

“Yes,” Jack agreed smoothly, “you _really_ ought to.”

Bitty wrapped his hands around Jack’s wrists and pushed them up into the pillows above Jack’s head. The knowledge that Jack was twice his size and could easily break free simply made it more exciting for Eric; his boyfriend, a highly dangerous criminal, was willing to submit himself to a bumbling little Southern boy. Jack trusted Eric so much that despite yearning for control of his life since a child, Jack was willing to relinquish what little grip he had in order to completely bare himself to Eric. The thought made Bitty shiver with anticipation, so he decided to get a head-start on putting this control to use.

He hadn’t had much experience beyond top secret make-out sessions in Georgia and the kiss-and-steal routine that had funded his way to Boston, but there was _something_ about the way Jack seemed to melt under his fingertips that made Bitty want to try.

So Bitty experimentally ground his hips a little, back and forth, side to side. Jack let out an almost startled groan and pushed against the hold on his wrists.

Eric tsked and shook his head before pressing down on Jack’s wrists again. “Now, now, Jack, none of that. You don’t need to do anything. Just lay there and let me make you feel good.”

Jack’s fingers curled up into tight fists in the pillow but otherwise didn’t move, and the responding smile from Bitty was blinding. Eric used his free hand to trace teasing patterns just above the waistband of Jack’s sweatpants. If Bitty had any doubts that Jack cared for him, they were quickly erased by the soft expression on the sniper’s face and the sweet words pouring from his lips.

This was about as far as they’d gotten in the past two weeks: rutting like teenagers and making out like their lives depended on it. But looking at Jack now, spread out beneath him and achingly hard against his ass, Bitty wondered why that was the case. He wanted nothing more than to wreck Jack, but it seemed like maybe he’d need a little preparation before accomplishing that.

He leveled an almost flirtatious stare at his boyfriend before carefully leaning down and whispering, “Stay put for me, love.” He cautiously released Jack’s wrists, waiting to see if the man under him would obey. It seemed as if he would – for now at least.

The nightstand was just out of reach, so he had to get on his knees and stretch for it. He quickly found the lube and condoms he’d hidden there last night when Jack had been busy planning the final details of their heist with Shitty. When he returned to his seated position on Jack’s groin with his spoils, Jack’s eyes widened.

“Qu’est-ce que…” Jack began before Bitty interrupted by kissing him again.

Lifting gently off of Jack’s hips, Bitty asked, “Can I trust you to take off your clothes and go straight back to that position for me?” Jack nodded, waiting for a sign that he was allowed to move. When Bitty finally rolled off of him to take off his own clothes, Jack stripped down and immediately put his hands back above his head.

Bitty returned and bracketed his legs around Jack once more, relishing in the feeling of skin on skin. Noticing that Jack had followed directions perfectly, he purred, “Such a good boy for me, Jack. You’re such a _good_ boy, just for me.” Bitty couldn’t help but preen at the shiver he’d elicited. “You’re so beautiful, Jack. Stay just like that.”

The lube was cold against Eric’s hand but he lowered his hand to his entrance anyways. He grit his teeth as he got used to the temperature. Slowly, terribly slowly, Eric let one finger slip in. He gasped, unused to the feeling, and did his best to relax. He hazarded a glance down to be met with the bluest eyes watching him intently. His smile returned in full force before he scooted down to start leaving lovebites on Jack’s neck.

He surprisingly worked himself open quickly, soon three fingers deep and whining for more. He could still feel Jack hard and leaking against his own length and took a deep breath.

“You ready?”

All Jack could muster was a groan and a nod, so Bitty took that as a good sign. He picked up the condom and ripped it open with his teeth, spitting out the foil somewhere to his left. It rolled smoothly down Jack’s cock before Bitty pumped his length a couple of times in preparation.

He’d never had another person inside him, but he didn’t want to let his unease show. He carefully lowered himself down to line up with Jack, the tip of Jack’s cock insistent at his entrance. Breathing deeply once more, Bitty finally began sliding down Jack, feeling the satisfying discomfort of being full. Jack had started making these delicious noises, whimpers and groans that conveyed more than words could at the moment. Eric noticed the clenching and unclenching of fists above Jack’s head and took pity.

“Touch me, Jack,” he half-begged.

It was like something had snapped inside Jack, a wall falling down and bringing with it a torrent of lust and love and everything else the man had been feeling. He ran his hands over Bitty’s body like he’d been told he was going blind, like he wanted to remember ever single detail, every freckle and every scar.

Finally seated fully on Jack, Bitty was breathing heavily and slightly overwhelmed. The way Jack was looking at him was intense and made Bitty feel like Jack was put on this earth to make up for every other shitty thing this clusterfuck of a universe created. And Bitty wanted to do the same for him.

Jack’s hands settled on Bitty’s hips, encouraging Bitty to push himself up with his legs. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, having Jack inside him, but it was definitely different than he’d ever imagined. It fed a hunger he hadn’t been aware had been burning so brightly.

He picked up speed, the pleasure slowly starting to flood into his veins. Jack was still clutching desperately at Bitty, now using his grip to help slam the blond down more forcefully. Something in the next downstroke caught a sensitive spot, making Bitty see stars and a deep fire kindle in the base of his stomach.

Jack seemed to react perfectly to every signal Bitty put out, slowing when Eric was getting overwhelmed, and speeding up when he got needy. Bitty was spewing a stream of “Oh God” and “So good” and “ _Please_ , Jack” and couldn’t find it in himself to really care how he sounded.

The blond was quickly nearing his limit and he guessed that Jack wasn’t far behind him. “Jack, _touch_ me, please.”

Jack’s eyes crinkled at the edges, still droopy but more in a “bedroom eyes” kind of way than usual. He moved one hand from Bittle’s waist and wrapped it around his erection, stroking in time with Bitty’s rise and fall. Bitty gasped, feeling his legs tremble with exhaustion and elation.

He finally came, his toes curling and body clenching, pulling out a long moan from Jack as he followed over the edge. Panting, he collapsed onto Jack’s chest, nuzzling under his chin.

Jack was the first to speak. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” A pause, a tentative smile. “I love you, Jack.”

“J’t’aime, Eric.”

* * *

 

Holster was helping Lardo with putting bows in Shitty’s flow when Eric and Jack finally stumbled out of their room – _their room_ , Bitty thought, letting the words bounce around leaving ecstatic footprints against his brain. Holster looked up and nodded at the two men before going back to the delicate task at hand.

Ransom on the other hand, having been hidden behind the couch until just then, went running at Bitty, grabbing him and lifting him into the air with considerable ease. “You finally did it! You’re a real man now, Bits!”

Shitty shook his head. “Nah, brah. Virginity is just a social construct and neither its presence nor absence makes anyone more or less of a man – which as you know is its own soc- _ow_!” He held a hand to his head to rub the spot Lardo had just smacked. “Fine. Don’t allow your mind to be op- ow! Fucking _stop_ that!”

Lardo laughed and softly patted Shitty’s head. “Leave them alone, bros. Let them bask in it a lil’ longer.”

There was a mumble of begrudging agreement which was followed by the sound of a chair being pushed out. Chowder stood up.

“Since, you know, you two were, uh, busy? I tried to make pancakes but it didn’t go well…”

“Dude, you set the stove on fire before the first pancake was even done,” interjected Nursey. Bitty’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“Okay, yes, that’s a minor detail that _we weren’t going to share with Bitty_ but! It’s fine! It’s fine, Bitty! We put it out and decided that cereal was just as good as pancakes and probably no one would die making it,” Chowder concluded with a nod before adding, “But we didn’t account for Derek’s, uh, lack of grace.”

“And by lack of grace,” Ransom chimed in, “he means that Nurse managed to spill not one, not two, but three _entire_ gallons of milk. So the cereal didn’t happen either.”

“Toast!” Holster supplied. “We could have peanut butter toast!”

“You ate all the peanut butter while watching _Music & Lyrics_ and sobbing last night,” Ransom reminded him.

Jack tensed. “You ate… _all_ of the peanut butter? On the night before a heist?”

Holster froze, his life seemingly flashing before his very eyes. “Hey, Rans, remember how we totally planned on running to the store before the heist because there’s nothing more important than a fully stocked pantry?”

Nodding frantically, Ransom slid past Jack and picked up his wallet and keys. “We’ll be back before you even know it, bros.”

“Grab more milk and butter!” Bitty yelled after them as the doors swung closed.

* * *

 

Once Ransom and Holster came back with more peanut butter than any man really needs as well as the milk of five cows, life in the Haus resumed. Jack and Bitty were able to have their beloved PB&Js as they got their gear together. Bitty was adjusting his bulletproof vest, silently cursing how thick and bulky it was.

“Stop pulling at it,” Jack admonished. “It might save your life, and I need all the help I can get.” He was clutching the rounds for his rifle, trembling slightly.

“I’ll be fine, Jack. My hands are mostly healed, and I have you watching my back. Rans and Holtzy will be there, too. It’ll be fine!”

Jack nodded mutely and put down his gun. He held his hands out to Bitty, quickly enveloping the smaller man as soon as he stepped close enough. “I don’t want to let you down. I’m scared you’re going to get hurt again,” he murmured into Bitty’s hair.

“Oh! Goodness sakes, Jack! You won’t. You _didn’t_. Even if something happens, you know I won’t blame you. Now come on, put on some pants and let’s go.” Bitty ended his order with a hard kiss, reveling in the way the tension appeared to just melt out of Jack’s body.

“Yeah,” he said after Bitty stepped back. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Bitty smiled and turned, leaving the room and heading to their boardroom. He noticed the board he stole the last time they’d met Yale, the ring of keys still hanging near the corner. He walked over to the board and looked at all the maps. Sighing, he removed the keys from the hook, letting his mind focus on their hard weight in the middle of his palm. As soon as he’d pocketed them, he found his way to the living room where the rest of the crew was waiting.


End file.
